


An Education

by WinterRose527



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dubious Consent, F/M, High School, Light Dom/sub, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Spanking, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-07-08 19:24:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15936722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterRose527/pseuds/WinterRose527
Summary: Robb is a young teacher, Myrcella is his student. Fate plays its part.Let me know if I should continue. If I do there will some Dom/sub leanings.





	1. Chapter 1

“Can anyone tell me what Raskolnikov’s primary flaw was?,” Robb asked the class.

 

“Murder,” Harry Hardyng offered making the class laugh.

 

Robb chuckled, it was the kind of answer Theon would have given when they were in high school.

 

Everyone told him that he didn’t want to teach sophomores, that they had lost the eagerness of freshman and had not gained the fear of college touring juniors. Nobody had warned him about seniors, the nearly manic energy they would have for the first semester, or the lethargic lazy quality they would have in the second, once they’d been accepted early decision at their top schools.

 

In fairness, most people probably hadn’t known. Vale Academy was not exactly like other schools. Here, there was no such things as a Sophomore slump, where most of the kids were studying at a university level before they could drive. He, he had been told, as a new teacher had drawn the short straw.

 

_“Seniors? Really?,” he asked._

 

_“First semester they’ll stalk you if you give them anything below an A, and by the time the snows settle you’ll be lucky if they are even awake,” Brienne told him with a sigh, “It’s part of the deal they make, they’ll give their all, beyond their all, for three and a half years. And then they get a pass.”_

 

_“A deal with who?”_

 

_“Some days it’ll feel like the devil.”_

 

“That was certainly his great mistake,” Robb said, trying to get the kids back on track, “But his primary flaw? Anyone?”

 

He looked around for his usual suspects. There was Margery Tyrell, who was incredibly clever but who was currently writing a note that had nothing to do with the class, and Podrick Payne, who was shifting uncomfortably telling him that he hadn’t in fact done the reading.

 

With great reluctance, his eyes fell upon his last choice. In truth, she should have been his first, she was at the top of her class and was a truly thoughtful student. She’d once made a scrapbook for a modern Jane Bennett as an extra credit project, complete with poems she thought the girl would like and playlists for different occasions. She was a favourite among the faculty, and not just for her family’s sizeable donations to the institution.

 

Even still, he often tried to avoid her as much as he could. He was desperate though, so his eyes fell to hers.

 

There was no eloquent way of saying it, he felt it right in his dick.

 

Her green eyes pleaded with him, shaking her head ever so slightly, though his had already trailed to her bottom lip that was being savaged between her rows of pearly white teeth. He’d like to sooth that poor lip of hers, and then bite it once again.

 

“No one?,” he challenged, feeling irrationally angry at her.

 

She was a _high school student,_ a kid, and yet she reduced him to one himself. She was only eighteen, the same age as his little sister Arya, and yet he could not get her out of his mind. He lost hours thinking about her halo of golden hair and green eyes, had spent too long listening to Jane Bennet’s playlists, imagining a different beauty laying on her bed with giant headphones on and bare feet.

 

With that the alarm sounded and everyone gathered their things, it being last period.

 

“Miss Baratheon? Can you stay behind for a moment?,” he asked her.

 

_What is the matter with you? Let her go, you idiot so that you can go home and thing about those lips and that body. Fuck, no, we agreed you weren’t going to do that anymore. That is WRONG. She is your STUDENT. She is…so fucking pretty._

 

She gathered her things, waving goodbye to a couple of her friends and then waited.

 

“Did you do the reading?,” he asked her, because now that she was there he realised he had to say something.

 

“Yes Mr. Stark,” she nodded dutifully, her eyes downcast.

 

_She’s so submissive, fuck me._

 

“Did it confuse you?,” he asked.

 

“No…I enjoyed it,” she said, shifting her bag on her shoulder.

 

It was designer, Sansa would know the name, but it was overflowing. He bet she’d have a mark on that shoulder, her back was probably tense as well. He could sooth that too.

 

“But yet you didn’t want to answer my question?,” he said, trying to be as kind as he could. In truth there was no reason for him to be pursuing this line of questioning, none of the other students had answered it either. “You know there are no stupid answers in here…”

 

“Not even Harry Hardyng’s?,” she asked and then looked up at him with a look of shock, “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, that was rude.”

 

He grinned, “Maybe, but it wasn’t wrong either. Though if you tell anyone I said so…”

 

“I wouldn’t,” she said, shaking her head, “I can keep a secret.”

 

_God damn it it’s like she’s reading from a script. The script of every bad porno ever shot._

 

The truth was though, Myrcella couldn’t be more different than the girls in the porns he sometimes watched when his imagination wouldn’t do the trick. Not that he’d been having that problem lately. She was the picture of innocence, a true, delicate, refined beauty, with slim limbs and a swan-like neck. She didn’t dress like one either, in her knee length light pink skirt and white cashmere sweater. Even still, the mere thought of her got him harder than even the raunchiest porn.

 

He leaned against his desk, placing his hands over his lap in case anything embarrassing were to happen.

 

“So…why?,” he asked her, “Did you not know?”

 

“It wasn’t that… Raskolnikov’s greatest flaw is pride, right? A view of himself so distorted that it actually convinced him that it was alright to murder?,” she asked, her head tilting adorably.

 

“Thank you,” he said, holding up his hands and she grinned. “So why didn’t you say that in class?”

 

She looked up at him and bit that lip again. She wasn’t even doing it right, he could tug on it so much better than her.

 

“I…was daydreaming,” she said with a sigh, “I’m sorry.”

 

“That’s alright, Miss Baratheon,” he said. He’d tortured her for long enough and if he spent anymore time near her and that fucking scent of hers he was going to do something really stupid. “Daydreaming about your boyfriend is a completely normal thing to do with prom right around the corner.”

 

_Your boyfriend? Where the fuck did that come from? Are you a fucking idiot? Why do I even ask, why don’t I just say it - YOU’RE A FUCKING IDIOT._

 

“I wasn’t!,” she said quickly, “I was thinking about…,” she said and then trailed off.

 

He had never seen her at a loss for words, and he could see her growing angrier at herself for not being able to think of anything, her mouth falling into an annoyed o.

 

“Well now I wouldn’t even believe it if you did tell me,” he said with a grin.

 

_Oh so you are flirting with her now, that seems like the most logical path to go down with your student. I take it back, you aren’t an idiot, you are a very, very smart man. It’s sanity that you lack._

 

“Then I might as well be honest,” she said, as though she’d been dared to, “I was thinking about _you_. Have a good afternoon, Mr. Stark.”

 

She had turned beet red but still managed a saucy little wave of her fingers before leaving the classroom.

 

_Why couldn’t I have just taught sophomores?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments! I'll continue this a couple more chapters at least to see if people stay interested.

_I was thinking about you. I was thinking about you. I was thinking about you._

 

He had thought about it all night, as he took himself in his hand and came crying out her name. He imagined her on her knees before him under his desk, his cock in between those soft pink lips. He thought about her perfect little body above him as she rode him. Annoyingly he’d also thought about that giggle of hers, imagined hearing it from the passenger seat as he drove, the feel of her cashmere sweater underneath his hand as he rubbed her back.

 

All he had to do was make it through this class, just a few more minutes without spontaneously mounting her and he’d be alright.

 

“So um…,” he said, “Uh…,” he mumbled and though he didn’t want to, his eyes wandered to her. Her hair was up in some top whatever thing, and she wore a tight black turtleneck, her chin resting carelessly in her palm, “The uh…”

 

With that the bell rang and he turned away, grateful that he wouldn’t have to finish that non-thought. He went back to his desk and started to pack up his things. It was Friday and he’d be heading out to Winterfell for the weekend, Sansa and Jon would meet him there and the other kids lived there already. He was looking forward to a weekend with his family. Free from this free, from -

 

“Mr. Stark?,” he heard her silken voice from behind him.

 

He straightened up and turn around, smiling stiffly at Podrick Payne as he ambled out, and then turned to her, “Miss Baratheon.”

 

She was wearing loose jeans with her turtleneck, the bottoms rolled up revealing delicate ankles. _Fuck you’re even turned on by her ankles, what is the matter with you?_

 

“I…just wanted to apologize for yesterday,” she said, pulling a folder out of her bag, “I did a little book report. Not for extra credit or anything, just… I don’t want you to think I’m not serious about my studies. And I, well…,” she said and readjusted that stupidly big bag, and gave a little smile, not for him, but to herself and confessed, “I really loved the book and it seemed like maybe you do too? So anyway… I’m sorry.”

 

There was nothing really for him to do except take the folder from her, giving her a tight lipped smile. He opened up the folder and fingered the pages. There had to be four of them at least.

 

“This is four pages?,” he asked incredulously.

 

He shouldn’t have been surprised. She really was his best student and she was a brilliant writer. She was quiet but she was incredibly effective on paper, and even an essay of hers on the driest material was like a brilliant choreographed dance.

 

“Front and back,” she said with a sheepish grin.

 

“Miss Baratheon I hope you didn’t waste time you could have been using on your other studies…,” he said, though he knew that he would take this with him to Winterfell and devour it underneath the willow tree with Grey Wind.

 

She smiled, “Don’t worry, Mr. Stark. Most of the other teachers aren’t giving us work anymore…”

 

“Oh…yeah… I guess I could be taking it a little easier on you guys…,” he said with a half-smile. It was his first year though, he didn’t want to get a reputation as a softie.

 

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said with that easy smile of hers, “I think it’s good that you’re still…you know… _giving it the ol’ college try._ ”

 

She did an odd little arm motion with it and it was so adorable he almost passed out.

 

He burst out laughing, “Okay Grandpa.”

 

“That is a perfectly acceptable phrase!,” she protested with an irresistible pout.

 

“Yeah, it’s all the gas at the sockhop,” he said, unable to stop himself from teasing her.

 

“Sockhop? Now who’s the grandpa?,” she teased right back, then did that little head tilt and got a dazed look in her eye, “I would have _loved_ a poodle skirt.”

 

“And McCarthyism?,” he challenged.

 

“Milkshakes,” she said with narrowed eyes.

 

“Cold War?,” he prompted.

 

“Jackson Pollock!,” she triumphed.

 

“Civil Rights?,” he offered.

 

“Oh don’t go and make it all serious…,” she reprimanded with a shake of her head.

 

“Miss Baratheon, are you suggesting the _Cold War_ wasn’t serious?,” he asked with a grin.

 

“Are _you_ suggesting that you don’t like milkshakes, Mr. Stark?,” she challenged back.

 

“I concede,” he said, throwing his hands up, not because he couldn’t think of a retort but because he wanted to kiss the smirk right off of her.

 

She did a little victory shimmy that made him go blind.

 

“Anyway,” she said, straightening up and adjusting that bag again, “It wasn’t just… I’m not just sorry for dazing in class…I’m sorry for what I… _said._ ”

 

“Oh…uh…it’s forgotten,” he lied through his teeth.

 

“Really? Oh thanks Mr. Stark!,” she said and then shook her head, “Because sometimes I just _say_ things you know? Because I think they are funny or …”

 

“That’s because you’ve never been properly punished,” he pointed out.

 

 _Fuck_.

 

He hadn’t meant to say that. Really, he hadn’t. He had just gotten so caught up in their repartee, the swiftness of it. More than that though, he had been agonising over what she said and the fact that she had said it flippantly, just to fuck with him… well it made his palms twitch.

 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

 

Her lips had parted in a delightful o again, her cheeks flushed and her jade eyes wide. She was speechless, once again, and he could not help but revel in that at least.

 

He found the courage or the stupidity to look at her, allowed himself for once to really look. The flush spread down what little of her neck he could see and her eyes were not just wide, they were misty. There was more than shock there, of that he was sure.

 

He had grown used to it, the school girl crushes, the lilt in girls’ voices when they spoke to him. It was normal, he knew. He was the youngest member of the staff, only twenty four, and he remembered being in high school and all of the girls having a crush on Mr. Oakheart. It was totally normal, he just had never seen it from her. It was the only thing that had kept him reasonably sane this year.

 

“I suppose you’re right,” she said, recovering, “I can be spoiled and a bit careless. But I try not to be with people’s feelings,” she said, holding her chin high, “So I’m sorry.”

 

She was such a lady, even at eighteen. She had a regality to her that he couldn’t quite place, and he knew that there was more than one reason she was so soft spoken. It made him want to hear her begging for him all the more. He wanted to knock that halo right off her head and fuck her within an inch of her life.

 

_I’m a monster._

 

“That’s alright,” he said and he knew his voice sounded like gravel. He saw her eyes glass a bit and it robbed him of sense, “But I do not like to be made a fool of, Miss Baratheon. Was that your intention?”

 

“No,” she said shaking her head, “I would never try to make a fool of you, Mr. Stark.”

 

She really was so submissive, so earnest and eager to please. It made his dick hard.

 

“And yet you lied to me anyway,” he accused, letting it dangle.

 

“I was not lying,” she said softly as she stepped forward.

 

“Then prove it to me,” he said, testing just how far her eagerness went, “Tell me what you were thinking of.”

 

“Mr. Stark,” she said, stepping away now, “I could not…”

 

“So you were lying,” he said with a curt nod, turning away from her.

 

_Just say yes. Just say yes and leave. Go, go to your douchey boyfriend and your stupid friends where it is safe for you._

 

“Your beard,” she blurted out.

 

It was not what he’d expected. In truth he hadn’t know what to expect, but this effected him no less than if she’d told him she’d been imagining him bending her over his desk.

 

He turned back to her and asked, “You were thinking about my beard?”

 

“It’s longer. I..,” she said and closed her eyes, “Was wondering if it was soft.”

 

_Oh good lord._

 

“You were wondering what my beard felt like?,” he asked her quietly, cognisant that the door was open and that he could and should be fired for this conversation alone.

 

“Yes,” she said, equally quiet but there was deep emotion in her voice.

 

_She wants me too._

 

Now that he knew to look for it, it was as clear as day. The lip biting, the flushed cheeks and wide eyes, the way she was squirming, all but rubbing her legs together. He wondered if her panties were wet yet, if she’d go home and touch herself and think about him. If she had done so already.

 

The image of her lying in bed, her hair fanning out on the pillows, her back arched, her hand in her panties, her poor bottom lip worried between her pearly teeth flashed before him and he had to stifle a groan. That might be worth being fired for.

 

Feeling the recklessness of a doomed man, he sat on the edge of his desk and said, “You can see for yourself, if you’d like. Or you can leave, and we will forget this ever happened. There will be no consequences to either.”

 

He wouldn’t blackmail the girl. Life in fact, was not a porn and despite his darkest urges he was not a cruel man. There was no harm that would ever come to Myrcella Baratheon, not by him. No lasting harm anyway.

 

She looked up at him a bit regretfully then adjusted her bag on her shoulder. She turned and walked towards the door and he sighed, half in relief and half in regret.

 

 _It’s better this way,_ he thought to himself.

 

And then she pushed the door shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will have a Myrcella POV
> 
> Also - would love advice on what tags I should put on this. I think I make it clear in my summary, but I wouldn't want anyone to stumble on this unknowingly and be upset by it. 
> 
> I should also note that I in no way condone real teacher-student relationships IN ANY CIRCUMSTANCE. This is just a silly little fantasy that creates a venue for Robb's dirty talk/dommy urges that people seem to like in my other fics.


	3. Chapter 3

There are some decisions that only seem foolish in retrospect, with the aid of time and experience and a fuller understanding of the facts. This was not one of those decisions.

Even as she shut the door, Myrcella Baratheon could have told you that it was, without a doubt, the single most ill-advised thing she’d ever done.

 

Even though she had fantasised about this moment ever since she’d seen Mr. Stark write his name up on the whiteboard on the first day of her senior year at Vale Academy, she was simply too smart to believe that this was anything short of idiotic and if she were being entirely honest, more along the lines of certifiably insane.

 

However, even though that point was shouting itself at her, it was drowned out by a different one. The simplest and most dooming realisation of her short life: _He wants me too._

 

She breathed deeply and turned around. His mouth was open in a comical depiction of shock. She placed her bag down on one of the desks and walked over to him with more bravery than she knew she had.

 

He was sitting on the desk, but even still he was taller than her, _hulking_ and _manly._ She had never stood so close to him, and she looked up to find his cerulean eyes drinking her in. She wasn’t sure that she had ever been looked at like that. She knew that she wasn’t ugly, but he was looking at her like she was mesmerising and even a bit dangerous.

 

He stayed as still as a statue as she reached her fingers out tentatively to press against his beard. The hair was short and fine and she dragged a knuckle down from his cheekbone to his jaw. Their breath was intermingling and she saw his Adam’s Apple bob as she pressed the fingers of her other hand to his face, and she looked down to find his hands gripping the desk, his knuckles white.

 

She removed her hands from him but stayed where she was, standing between his legs.

 

“Soft,” she confirmed.

 

“Perhaps now you’ll be able to concentrate in my class,” he said in that deep, gravelly voice that she felt in every cell of her body.

 

_Doubtful._

 

“May I ask you something, Mr. Stark?,” she asked, looking up at him through lowered lashes.

 

“Yes,” he nearly growled at her.

 

It reminded her of how he’d told her she hadn’t been properly punished. Her panties were soaking from that comment and she knew she’d spend hours that evening thinking about all the different ways he could punish her.

 

“Have you ever thought of me?,” she asked. She was pretty sure she knew the answer but even still she could not keep the shyness from her voice. She felt the need to explain further and said, “Not when you’re calling on me in class or grading my papers but…”

 

“Yes,” he said simply, his eyes closed, nodding his head slowly like it had a 500 pound weight attached to it.

 

“What have _you_ thought about?,” she asked curiously.

 

“Please, Miss Baratheon,” he nearly whimpered.

 

“You know Mr. Stark,” she said with a teasing lilt, “Fair is fair, if you tell me… I might just let you do it.”

 

“Seven fucking hells,” he said and crashed his lips onto hers.

 

He kissed her like a man possessed and she wasn’t sure if she was the demon or the sacrifice but it mattered not to her. She clung to him, allowing herself to be kissed and his hands were everywhere, as though he had thought so long about where he wanted to touch that he couldn’t seem to decide now. His hands went from her hair to her back to her neck, to her hips, and then came to rest on her cheeks.

 

He was an expert kisser, and she found herself moaning against him, trying to pull him closer to her.

 

He got off the desk and in the next moment she was on it, he between her legs as he attacked her lips again. His hand found her elastic and he pulled it, making her hair tumble around her.

 

He stopped kissing her and traced his hands through her hair, taking a lock between his thumb and forefinger. He was focused on it so intently that she took the opportunity to look at him. The freckles on his strong nose, his full pouty lips, his square jaw and high cheekbones. Finally her eyes fell back to his and found him watching her already.

 

“Soft,” he said.

 

“Pardon me?,” she squeaked out, all of her bravado gone.

 

He stroked her head and grinned, “Your hair. It’s…”

 

“Soft. Right. Like your beard,” she said and nodded, “I get it.”

 

“There’s a reason you’re up for valedictorian,” he said and she blushed at the stupidity of her comment.

 

“So um… we’ve established that we both have soft hair and uh… like milkshakes… so um, that’s uh…well I think that covers it,” she said and moved to get off the desk.

 

He stepped aside to let her off and he handed her the hair elastic he’d removed. She slipped it over her wrist and looked up at him. His head was down as though he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just done. That didn’t seem entirely fair.

 

“Mr. Stark…can I ask just one thing more?,” she asked.

 

“Why stop now?,” he said with a self-deprecating grin.

 

“Can I just…,” she stepped forward. His eyes widened when he saw her intention, “Just once more - just so that you never… blame yourself.”

 

She didn’t wait for him to answer because if he did it would ruin the point. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him softly. His hands had no sooner closed around her back then she was leaning away.

 

“Bye, Mr. Stark,” she said quietly.

 

His eyes trailed over her face once again and he gave her a small smile, “Goodbye Miss Baratheon.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad people are enjoying this! 
> 
> Please heed the tags.

Myrcella walked into school on Monday morning feeling as though she might as well be naked. In truth she was wearing her favorite navy blue dress by _Little Dove_ underneath her light spring coat, but the nakedness was more intrinsic than that.

 

It seemed impossible that no one seemed to realise what she’d done. That she’d _kissed_ Mr. Stark. That his hands had been on her body, that she’d moaned against him.

 

She had spent the better part of the weekend thinking about it, bailing on Trystane and skipping out of Harry’s party. She’d claimed cramps and too much work, and Trystane had showed up yesterday with Midol, Red Velvet cupcakes, and crawled into bed with her to watch _When Harry Met Sally._ He’d grown up with all sisters and female cousins and was decidedly unafraid of _menstruating_. It helped that he wanted to be a doctor. And that he was incredibly sweet and by all accounts in love with her.

 

It had made her feel even worse and she’d cried against his chest when Sally and Harry fought. He’d only laughed at her a little bit and played with her hair saying, _“You just let it all out, baby.”_

 

He’d stayed for dinner and even made her mother smile with his impression of Dean Pycelle, who had already been the Dean back when her mother attended Vale Academy. When she’d walked him out to his car he’d taken her face between his hands and kissed her deeply. She kissed him back and knew herself to be a whore when she imagined a different pair of arms around her.

 

She got to her locker and pulled a few things out of her bag, taking off her coat and hanging it on the hook.

 

“Hey stranger,” her friend Margery said, pulling her books out of the locker next to hers. “You missed a crazy party on Saturday.”

 

“Let me guess,” Myrcella said with a grin, “By ten pm one couple had broken up, two sophomore girls were kissing, and Harry’s 17th century dining room table had broken.”

 

Margery looked at her in confusion, “Are you clairvoyant?”

 

“No, it’s all just so utterly predictable by now,” Myrcella said honestly, then grinned impishly, “Plus Trystane was texting me a play by play.”

 

Margery chuckled, “Poor boy didn’t know what to do with himself without your tune to dance to.”

 

“You make it sound like he’s my puppy,” Myrcella scolded.

 

That wasn’t fair, Trystane was loyal to her but he was his own man.

 

“Hey, if the leash fits,” Margery said, nodding behind her.

 

Myrcella turned around to see Trystane jogging towards her.

 

“Hi you,” she said, accepting the kiss he planted on her lips.

 

“Morning baby,” he said and then turned to Margery, “Captain.”

 

“At ease, Martell, I’ll see you at lunch El,” she said and wandered down the hall, jumping on Harry Hardyng’s back.

 

“I missed you,” Trystane said.

 

“You saw me last night,” she pointed out.

 

“I know but I…,” Trystane said, his voice dropping an octave, “Miss you.”

 

“Trystane,” she protested blushing.

 

“Come with me,” he urged.

 

“We’ll be late to first period,” she said, closing her locker.

 

“It’s Glover he’s a total pushover,” he said, pressing himself up against her back, “Come on baby…”

 

She really didn’t feel like sitting through trigonometry and their teacher had been phoning it in since they’d taken the AP exam.

 

“Ten minutes,” she allowed, “I mean it.”

 

He grinned cockily down at her and took her hand, dragging her down the hall. She was so busy looking around to make sure no one was paying attention to them that she hadn’t realised where exactly he’d taken her. All she knew was that it was dark and smelled like old books and that there was a wall because she was pressed against it.

 

He leaned down and kissed her, bending his knees so that she didn’t have to stand on her tip toes.

 

She wove her hands into his curls and in the dark she could pretend they were auburn.

 

 _Mmm_ she moaned against him.

 

“Oh baby you drive me crazy,” he said, his hands squeezing her breasts gently.

 

His hands wove into her hair _Soft_ she heard in her head and she kissed him hungrily making him groan.

 

They heard someone clear their throat and she opened her eyes. _Oh no._

 

“Mr. Stark!,” she exclaimed, her hand covering her mouth. “I am so sorry.”

 

 

“Don’t you two have somewhere to be?,” he asked stoically.

 

“Sorry Mr. Stark,” Trystane said with a cocky smile, “We’ll uh…leave you to it.”

 

Trystane released his hold on her and walked past Mr. Stark as though he hadn’t just been caught making out with his girlfriend in a supply closet during first period but she stayed pressed to the wall.

 

Her gaze was locked on Mr. Stark’s as though she were being held captive. Slowly his eyes trailed down her face to her lips, down her neck, and scanned down her body hungrily.

 

_I was thinking about you, I promise._

 

“Coming baby?,” Trystane asked.

 

“Oh…yes… excuse me, Mr. Stark…,” she said when she realised he was now blocking her exit.

 

He stepped to the side and she gave him one last look before she took Trystane’s outstretched hand.

 

She let him lead her towards trig, burying her face against his bicep.

 

“Don’t sweat it, baby,” Trystane said easily, “I bet Mr. Stark’s been in his fair share of supply closets…”

 

***

 

Robb sat at his desk grading papers. School had long since finished but he had to go to Winterfell tomorrow after work for dinner and wanted to finish these so that he could leave early and pick his siblings up from school.

 

He wished he could put a paper written by every student at the beginning of the year next to the ones they were turning in now. He understood though, they were all into school, they were a month and a half away from graduating. They were done.

 

He read through and gave at least a grade higher for each paper than he would have done for the same one at the beginning of the year. He knew about the universities’ stipulations that you _mostly_ keep up your GPA, and he wouldn’t be the one to screw things up for them after they’d all worked so hard.

 

He wrote B+ on Podrick Payne’s paper and then came to the next one in the stack. _Myrcella Baratheon_ was typed at the top, along with the date and the word count of 2,500 exactly, just as he’d requested.

 

He opened the first page and immediately it was like she was in the room with him. Her voice was so apparent even in her first sentence, quietly commanding, even a bit haughty as if to say _Watch, you’re not going to want to miss a thing._ Her thesis was interesting and he moved curiously on down the page.

 

He was on the third page, taking notes on a separate piece of paper when he heard his classroom door close.

 

He looked up and as though he’d conjured her, there she was. She was wearing the navy blue long sleeved dress and little gold flats he’d seen her in earlier and she had that stupid bag on her poor shoulder.

 

“Miss Baratheon,” he said, clearing his throat, “I was…just reading your paper.”

 

“Oh…,” she said, nodding.

 

“Is that why you’re here?,” he asked her.

 

“No,” she said, shaking her head.

 

She offered no further information so he set the pen down and looked her. Her cheeks were flushed and she had a guilty look on her face, the same look he’d seen earlier after the shock had faded.

 

“Would you like to tell me why you are here?,” he prompted.

 

She bit her lip, pulling at a stray thread on her hem and looking down.

 

_A doe in the woods, seeking out the wolf._

 

“Would you like me to guess?,” he asked, though he was having difficulties speaking his mouth was so dry.

 

“I…wanted to apologize,” she said softly.

 

“For?,” he asked. Though he knew he wanted her to say it.

 

“For…what you saw…,” she evaded.

 

“You already did that,” he pointed out.

 

Trystane had grinned cockily at him as if to say _You know how it is, man_. Robb did know how it was, he had tried to forget all weekend to no avail. He couldn’t blame him for wanting to kiss her, he couldn’t imagine there was a boy in the school that didn’t, even still he could have gut him where he stood for that grin.

 

“Yes but…,” she said.

 

“But?,” he urged.

 

“I apologized for _doing_ it. I didn’t apologise for you seeing it,” she clarified.

 

_She knows._

 

“And why would you need to do that?,” he asked stubbornly.

 

“Well because…,” she said, trailing off once again, this time her voice dripping with meaning.

 

“Because you think that I care about who my students are seeing?,” he asked as though it were ridiculous. As though he hadn’t wondered many times what exactly she saw in her douchey boyfriend.

 

“Well… maybe not all of your students,” she went on.

 

“But you think you’re special,” he said. _You’re right._

 

“I can see that I was mistaken,” she said primly, her chin raised. Such a fucking lady it was intoxicating. She all but curtsied to him and said, her voice stronger,“I’m sorry for wasting your time. Have a good afternoon, Mr. Stark.”

 

With that she moved towards the door, adjusting that stupid fucking bag. He wasn’t sure why he hated it so much, it just seemed to constantly be in the way and it was easier to focus on that than on the dread he felt in his stomach watching her walk away.

 

She had nearly gotten to the door when he blurted out, “Is he good to you?”

 

She turned with a look of a confusion on her face but said, “He’s very kind. I know what his reputation is like but… he’s very kind to me.”

 

 

“That isn’t what I meant,” he said, though it had been. “Is he _good_ to you?”

 

“I…don’t…,” she said, her eyes wide as they scanned his face like it held the secrets of the universe.

 

“Does he make you _come_ , Miss Baratheon?,” he growled at her.

 

“Oh!,” she said, her whole body reacting to the question, “I…I’m not sure…”

 

“Then he does not,” Robb said, speaking the truth for once.

 

“How do you know?,” she asked. She didn’t ask it haughtily, as she could have in the circumstance. She asked it curiously, almost hopefully.

 

“Because you would know. Haven’t you ever…,” wondering once again if she lay in bed at night and touched herself.

 

She blushed and looked down, which told him that the answer was no. Or yes, but unsuccessfully.

 

“Do you have many further papers to grade?,” she asked, clearly desperate to change the subject.

 

“A few,” he said, “I was halfway through yours. I was just thinking to myself that I could practically hear your voice as I read it. Will you read it to me?”

 

“You want me to read you my paper?,” she asked.

 

“Yes,” he confirmed before he’d done so in his mind, “Come over here, please, Miss Baratheon.”

 

She set her bag down and walked over to the desk. She stood in front of it and reached her hand out for the paper.

 

“Come over _here_ , Miss Baratheon,” he said in a sterner voice.

 

Jade eyes met his and didn’t leave them as she walked around the desk and stood beside his chair. He handed her the paper, his fingers brushed up against hers.

 

“The third paragraph from the top, start from the beginning,” he ordered, placing his hands on the chair arms to keep from grabbing her.

 

“ _Ultimately, it is not as important to know if Lyla and Walter ever reunited, as it is to understand the ways in which their distance altered them irrevocably. To question whether they would recognise one another if-“_

 

“Would you not be more comfortable sitting down, Miss Baratheon?,” he asked as casually as he was able.

 

She looked at him questioningly and he tapped his desk, rolling his chair back slightly so that she had room to sit down. She wordlessly sat on the desk in front of him, crossing her delicate ankles.

 

“To question whether they would recognise one another if-,” she stopped once again as he ran his hand up her silky calf.

 

“Go on,” he urged her.

 

“Whether they would recognise one another if -,” she stopped as he uncrossed her ankles.

 

“If what, Miss Baratheon?,” he asked, trying to use her legs as leverage to pull himself closer. She was a little bit of a thing though and he unintentionally pulled her closer as well.

 

“Mr. Stark…,” she started.

 

“Am I wrong?,” he asked her, removing his hands from her. He wasn’t entirely sure in that moment that he didn’t want her to say yes. _You could save me and yourself too._ “Do you not want to read it to me?”

 

“No…,” she said bravely, shaking her head, “You’re not wrong. _To question whether they would recognise one another if they ever were in fact reunited, as they both so ardently wish throughout their journeys.”_

 

He took his hands and ran them up her smooth calves, up her thighs, underneath her dress. She kept reading slowly as though in a trance and his hand went up to her hips. He dragged her underwear down her legs and he could see the moisture on the white cotton.

 

He folded them carefully and placed them in his pants pocket and only noticed then that she’d stopped reading.

 

“Continue, Miss Baratheon,” he said.

 

She started reading again and he took one of her ankles and lifted it over his shoulder. He repeated this with the other and then tugged her forward so that her knees hooked over his shoulders.

 

She was panting already and he’d hardly touched her. He looked up at her as he dragged the hem of her dress up. Her eyes had gone cloudy but she kept reading dutifully.

 

He let his eyes fall down to her and stifled a groan when he saw her perfection pink and glistening for him.

 

He gripped her thighs with his hands and moved his head closer. He could feel her heat radiating over of her and blew air on her.

 

“ _Hahuhmm_ ,” she squealed.

 

“I don’t remember that part of the book,” he teased her.

 

“Shut up,” she whimpered.

 

He moved his face away from her and tipped the pages so that he could look up at her.

 

“What did you just say to me?,” he asked with more anger in his voice than he felt.

 

In truth he liked it, but he couldn’t pass up on this opportunity.

 

“I…,” she started.

 

“That was very disrespectful, Miss Baratheon,” he said, watching for her reaction as he said, “ _Disobedient_.”

 

There was a flash in her eyes, the same he’d seen when he’d made the comment about her not having been properly punished and it made him even harder.

 

“I’m…sorry Mr. Stark,” she said, “I didn’t mean to be so…”

 

“Say it,” he ordered.

 

“ _Naughty_ ,” she breathed out.

 

***

 

_It’s actually happened. I’ve been transported to one of those awful porn films with the slutty young girl and the gross old teacher._

 

But Mr. Stark wasn’t old or gross. He was young, no older than her half-brother Gendry, and distinctly not gross.

 

Handsome, dreamy, sexy, mother-may-I delicious. Those were words that one could apply to Mr. Stark.

 

Not to mention that she’d felt more aroused from his hand on her ankle than she ever had with Trystane inside of her. When she’d felt his breath on her, the promise of what was going to happen had made her weak and she’d gone and ruined it.

 

_Or did I?_

 

“Mmm, I know, Miss Baratheon,” he said her title like a caress, “But you were. If you had been a _good_ girl I would have been good to you in return.”

 

“I can be a good girl,” she promised.

 

He stood up in between her legs. He placed his hand under chin and tilted her head back so that she could look at him. He was so large, his presence so commanding. She wanted to know if he was large everywhere, wanted to be commanded by him.

 

“I know you can,” he said almost tenderly. His eyes darkened though, “But you know I can’t reward you for being bad, don’t you?”

 

“Yes Mr. Stark,” she nodded.

 

“I’ll give you another chance though,” he said, holding her chin hostage between his thumb and forefinger, “So that you can show me what a good girl you can be. Would you like that?”

 

“Yes Mr. Stark,” she nodded.

 

He placed his hands on her waist and pulled her off the desk. He was standing so close that she could feel him hard up against her and she wanted to bury her face against his chest. His sweater looked so soft, and she reached her hand out to touch it, but he stepped away from her.

 

“Turn around,” he told her.

 

She did as he asked, her heart racing. _Is he going to fuck me? Please say yes, please say yes._

 

“Place your hands on the desk,” he said.

 

She did as he asked, bending slightly.

 

“Lower,” he ordered.

 

She moved forward until she could feel her breasts touch the desk.

 

“That’s a good girl,” he said.

 

She felt her dress lifting, and he scrunched it up, holding it at at the small of her back.

 

“Tell me what you said to me,” his voice like gravel.

 

“I told you to shut up, Mr. Stark,” she said, squeezing her legs together, trying to ease the ache she felt.

 

He stepped to the side and she looked back at him but he did not meet her eyes. His attention was facing forward.

 

“That was a careless thing to say,” he said. “Do you remember why you say careless things?”

 

“B-because I’ve never been properly punished,” she breathed out in a whimper.

 

“Mmmm that’s right,” he said, “Until now.”

 

With that his palm met her butt cheek harshly. She saw stars, pleasure pulsing through her body. He spanked her again and she let out a guttural moan.

 

“Be quiet,” he ordered and then rubbed her butt soothingly and said in a softer tone, “Be quiet for me, sweet girl, so that I can reward you. I want to reward you. Will you be a good girl for me so that I can?”

 

“Yes Mr. Stark,” she promised.

 

He spanked her again, this time on her other cheek and she crushed her lips shut, stifling her moan.

 

“That’s a good girl,” he said, “You’re almost done. Just a few more, okay?”

 

 _More!_ she cried in her head. She was positively dripping and she felt tears forming in her eyes when he smacked her again.

 

She buried her face in the desk, her hands gripping the edge. He spanked her again and it was so hard that it pushed her whole body against the desk. The slightest contact against her cunt had her biting her lip to keep from screaming.

 

“Last one,” he said he said, rubbing her butt, “Now are you going to be a good girl for me going forward?”

 

“Yes, Mr. Stark, I promise, I promise,” she whimpered.

 

He smacked her again and before she even had time to register the pleasure he was down on his knees behind her and then she felt it. His tongue _there_.

 

“Uhhmnn,” she moaned softly.

 

She stood on her tiptoes to give him better access and his hands were palming her butt cheeks squeezing gently. His tongue explored her assuredly as though he knew everything there was to know about her already.

 

“Mmmm sweet girl indeed,” he murmured against her.

 

“ _Mr. Stark_ ,” she whimpered.

 

He increased his pressure and she felt that familiar build. She had felt it once or twice with Trystane, a few times when she let her hand wander underneath her pajamas, but it had always disappeared just as she felt she was rounding a corner. He was not going to let that happen, she knew it.

 

He pressed his tongue against her and just like that she felt herself falling over the edge. She felt the pressure release in a big wave and fell absolutely silent, rolling back against his tongue.

 

He pressed a kiss to her butt cheek and pulled her dress back down over her.

 

“Miss Baratheon?,” he asked.

 

“Mmm?,” she asked lazily, her eyes closed, her body gooey.

 

He let out a halted chuckle and she felt his arms wrap underneath her body and pull her back. She fell against his chest and turned her cheek so that it rested against his cozy sweater.

 

“Soft,” she murmured.

 

“Excuse me?,” he asked incredulously.

 

“Your sweater,” she explained, rubbing her cheek against him.

 

“Oh,” he said, tucking some hair behind her ear, “I thought you meant…”

 

“Oh!,” she said, realising it, “No…no that’s not…,” she turned around and let her hands wander up his chest, her eyes following their path until she tilted her head back to look at him, “Would you like…well… _fair is fair_ right?”

 

“No,” he said softly, “This was your education, not mine. Next time.”

 

“Next time?,” she asked hopefully.

 

“A figure of speech,” he clarified and her hopes fell and she could not help her small pout. His eyes widened and he traced her bottom lip with his thumb, “By the gods you really are sweet, aren’t you? What have I done?”

 

“You educated me,” she assured him, pressing a kiss to his thumb and admiring the way his eyes changed color like the sea before a storm.


	5. Chapter 5

“All I’m saying, Robby, is that I think it’s time,” Sansa said as they got out of his car, “It’s been nearly a year since Roslin, and you only dated her for like…five months?”

 

“Sansa I was with her for a year…,” he reminded her.

 

“Oh that’s right, you were only _happy_ with her for five months,” Sansa said, “Now I remember…”

 

“Just because you met the love of your life - thanks to me by the way - when you were still in your crib, doesn’t mean you get to dictate _my_ love life,” he said as they walked into the coffee shop.

 

“You’re right,” Sansa said with a solemn nod. Years of experience had taught him to expect the impish grin that came next when she said, “Now the fact that I am far more emotionally intelligent than you…now that _does_ mean I should get to dictate your love life.”

 

“I teach literature, Sans, I know more about love than you ever will,” he said.

 

“Reading about it and having it aren’t the same thing, Robby,” she said sadly, taking hold of his hand, “And no one deserves it more than you.”

 

“Except you,” he said he said earnestly.

 

She was his best friend, not that he’d ever tell Jon that, not that he’d ever need to.

 

“Well that’s true but _I_ have it, as you say, thanks to you. Let me pay it back,” she pleaded, “Please? Pretty please?”

 

He groaned, “Fine, you can give me her number.”

 

Sansa did a little victory dance and tugged him towards the line. They ordered their coffees and a lemon drizzle scone for Sansa and she went to grab them a table while he waited for the coffees.

 

Once he’d gotten them and doctored them to their specifications he scanned the room for her. There was a partition in between but she saw him looking and waved him over.

 

As he approached he saw that she was talking to someone, which wasn’t abnormal. She was a people person, and hadn’t lied when she said that she was far more emotionally intelligent than him. She was the most empathetic person he knew, and was deeply interested in people.

 

He nearly spilled the coffees when he saw who she was talking to though.

 

 _Myrcella Baratheon_.

 

She was sitting there with a giant mug in front of her and the remnants of a croissant. She had a book with her and seemed as though she’d come directly from horseback riding. She was wearing jodhpurs and a thick navy blue turtleneck sweater, her hair pulled back in a braid, her face make up free and stunning as always.

 

“Robby, why are you just standing there?,” Sansa asked when she saw him, “If I don’t get caffeine in me now I’ll be a proper bitch and you know it.”

 

“S-sorry,” he said and went to sit down on the bench next to Myrcella, “Hi Miss Baratheon.”

 

“Hi Mr. Stark,” Myrcella said and blushed.

 

_Probably because the last time you were this close to her, you made her ass turn exactly that shade. Don’t think about it. Do not think about it._

 

“Mr. Stark?,” Sansa said with a snort and then turned, “Oh are you one of his students? I pegged you for a sophomore at Wintertown U… wait tell me _everything!_ ”

 

“Everything?,” Myrcella asked with a gulp.

 

“Sans why don’t we leave her alone, she doesn’t want to talk to her literature teacher on a Saturday morning,” he said.

 

His stubborn sister grabbed the coffee out of his hand and said, “No way, Robby, I want to hear all about my big brother’s impact on the youth of Westeros…”

 

“Wait…Sansa…Stark?,” Myrcella asked her.

 

“Yes…,” Sansa said.

 

“As in the creator of Little Dove?,” Myrcella asked as though someone had just told her she’d met the Warrior himself, “The fash-“

 

“That’s me,” Sansa said sweetly with her dimpled grin.

 

“I’m… I love all your designs - my prom dress is Little Dove and I know that you must not be happy about one of your pieces of art being worn to a high school prom but… you are _so_ talented,” Myrcella gushed. He’d never heard her ramble before. It was adorable, especially when directed at his favorite sister.

 

“You are so sweet! And I wore one of my dresses to my prom, why shouldn’t other girls?,” Sansa pointed out. Robb still remembered her dress, it was the first gown she’d ever made. It was navy blue with a complicated neck and was one of the reasons she got into design school. “Which one, do you have any pictures?”

 

“Oh, of course,” Myrcella said and took out her phone, showing it to Sansa.

 

“This dress isn’t in stores yet,” Sansa said.

 

“I bought it at Fashion Week,” Myrcella told her, setting her phone down next to her. Robb couldn’t help but glance down and find himself disappointed that it was a model wearing it an not her. It was pale green with complicated beading, it was a gown fit for a princess. It was as though Sansa had made it for her, “I had never seen a dress so beautiful.”

 

“Have you had it tailored?,” Sansa asked curiously, her eyes scanning Myrcella, “Your proportions are different than the models…”

 

“Not yet, I have been researching the best one for gowns,” she said and then turned to him as though just remembering he was there, I’m sorry Mr Stark this must be horribly boring for you…”

 

“Oh don’t apologise to him, he’s my biggest fan,” Sansa dismissed with a wave but turned to him brightly and said, “Aren’t you, Wolf?”

 

Robb blushed and nodded, turning to Myrcella and assuring her, “I don’t mind…”

 

It was an understatement. Sitting here with the two of them. It felt so normal.

 

“Anyway if you want I can tailor it for you…I mean…who better right?,” Sansa offered.

 

“You…,” Myrcella trailed off, seemingly speechless. “That…”

 

“On one condition,” Sansa said, taking advantage of it.

 

“Of course,” Myrcella asked, clearly ready to agree to anything.

 

“Okay two…,” Sansa allowed.

 

“Sansa…,” Robb warned.

 

“Mind your own business, Robbert,” Sansa scolded in the way that only beloved little sisters could.

 

“ _She’s_ my student and _you_ are my sister, that means this is my business,” he pointed out stubbornly, in the way he’d been told only older brothers could.

 

“What um…are your conditions, Miss Stark?,” Myrcella asked, biting the inside of her cheek clearly to keep from laughing.

 

“Miss Stark? I love it, but call me Sansa. I’m only like, three years older than you,” Sansa said breezily. “Okay the first is that you model the dress and maybe a few others for the ad campaign and the second is that you allow me to sketch you right now.”

 

“Me? Model?,” Myrcella asked.

 

If he hadn’t graded her papers and tests himself all year he would have truly questioned her intelligence in that moment. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. She was short, no more than 5’3, but impossibly slender, and her face was made to be in magazines and on billboards.

 

“Absolutely,” Sansa said, as though it were obvious, which it was, “I’m working with my marketing team now to come up with the concepts but it will be very Highgarden inspired, very lush, ethereal…you are the only girl I can now picture in that dress, and we’ll make it fun, you’ll see.”

 

“Oh…I just… had never imagined modelling,” Myrcella said, “But…if you think I’m the right fit…”

 

“I know you are, plus I’m trying to bring in real girls more and more - which brings me to my other request…”

 

“Oh! Um, sure? I mean…should I, do you really want to? I’m just in my riding clothes…,” Myrcella said, smoothing her hair back.

 

“I know,” Sansa nodded, her eyes bright with creativity, “I love it. I’ve been wanting to get into sporting wear for a while, and I love this whole feel of an outfit working from the stables to town. Who made that sweater by the way?”

 

“My grandmother…,” Myrcella said and Robb had to clench his jaw so that he didn’t say _Aww_.

 

“Perfect, okay well just don’t mind me, you just talk to Robb and drink your coffee or read or whatever it is you want to do and I’ll just sketch…”

 

“Okay…,” Myrcella said and took a tentative sip of coffee as Sansa reached in her bag to grab the sketchbook she always carried with her.

 

“Robb, talk to her,” Sansa said ordered.

 

Robb glared at his favorite sister, though he wasn’t entirely sure why he bothered because he had been glaring at her since he sat down to no avail.

 

“Did you um…do the reading?,” Robb asked stupidly.

 

Sansa snorted, “Robb it’s a Saturday morning and she is what…a month and a half away from graduating?”

 

“I did, actually,” Myrcella said sweetly though, then turned to him conspiratorially and said, “I cried like a baby.”

 

“So did I, the first time I read it,” Robb confessed with a grin.

 

“Have you read his other work? _The Child_?,” Myrcella asked, sipping her coffee as though she really had forgotten that Sansa was sketching her all the while.

 

Robb’s mouth went dry. It was him now, who was speechless.

 

“It’s his favorite book of all time,” Sansa supplied for him graciously, “He made me read it. And our sister Arya. And my father. And my boyfriend Jon. Literally watched him read it, didn’t you?”

 

“He promised he would read it and then he _didn’t_ ,” Robb protested, “Who does that?”

 

“Anyway…,” Sansa said with a grin, “Myrcella, what did you think of it?,” Sansa asked.

 

“I thought it was the greatest depiction of the breakdown of the human pysche that I’ve ever read,” Myrcella said, “And I think it did such a tremendous job of being amoral while still…”

 

“Telling you everything you needed to know about who you are,” Robb finished.

 

“Exactly,” Myrcella breathed. “It’s like when you toss a coin up in the air and you automatically know whether you want it to be heads or tails. Its objectivity becomes a mirror to who you really are…,” she said, her eyes falling to him, that intoxicating blush deepening, “And what you want.”

 

“Yeah,” he said instead, “It does.”

 

***

 

“So, Sansa,” Myrcella asked, turning away from Robb because she was afraid of what she’d do if she didn’t, “How if you don’t mind my asking, did you start so young?”

 

“I had a great mentor,” Sansa said, “And when our grandmother passed away I inherited some money and I decided to just give it a go. I dropped out of fashion school after my first semester and started making dresses for my friends to wear to events. After a while, it kind of caught on.”

 

That was the understatement of the century. Little Dove had headlined Fashion Week, Sansa was on the cover of multiple magazines (she was more beautiful than any of her models), and rumour had it that she was launching into menswear soon.

 

“Wow…,” she breathed, “Good for you.”

 

“Have you ever thought about an internship?,” Sansa asked casually as her hand danced over the page.

 

“Oh! I don’t, I suppose I hadn’t…,” Myrcella said. She knew she’d have internships in college, but she hadn’t really thought about them yet.

 

“Well consider it,” Sansa told her, making it clear that one was hers if she wanted it, “You’ve got the eye - that dress of yours is the one that every magazine called to ask about - and there is a lot more to Little Dove than design…”

 

She was so kind. She had just sat down and started talking to her. Telling her that she loved her nail color and commenting on how nice it was that she was sitting by herself, and did she mind terribly if she spoke to her?

 

“Do you offer any in Press or Marketing?,” she asked curiously, “Oh or maybe in business development?”

 

Sansa grinned, “You want to learn it all, huh? That’s good. How about this… you’ll come to my office for your fitting, and we’ll start with you shadowing some of the concept meetings for the shoot you’ll be in. If you like the way we do things, we’ll find you a place. Does that sound alright?”

 

She looked at Mr. Stark. She wasn’t sure how he’d feel about this but his eyes were kind and he gave her a small smile before taking a sip of his coffee.

 

“That sounds perfect,” she nodded. “May I ask, why sporting wear?”

 

Sansa shrugged, “We grew up riding, and I always loved being in jodhpurs more than jeans. The major criticism of my company is that I design for the _leisure class_ , which I suppose is fair but I started off making clothes for me and my friends, clothes we needed for some function or another. So I figured, if they’re going to say it I might as well lean into it. And then I find you, it’s like fate. Believe me, there’s nothing quite so luxurious as a girl who can make riding gear look like _haute couture.”_

 

Myrcella blushed and laughed. She wasn’t sure that she made her ratty old jodhpurs look like _haute_ anything but if that’s what Sansa saw then she wasn’t going to argue.

 

“You don’t believe me, do you?,” Sansa asked, “See for yourself.”

 

Myrcella didn’t recognise the girl on the page. The girl on the page was beautiful and haughty with what could only be called _sprezzaturra_ emanating from her. She wore jodhpurs and a navy blue sweater, and had a hunting jacket slung over one arm, her cell phone held to her ear as she walked down the street.

 

Mr. Stark leaned towards her to look and she saw his grin out of the corner of her eye.

 

“Not bad, little one,” he said.

 

“Thanks, Wolf,” Sansa said, her tone a bit different than it had been. “I’m going to pop to the ladies and then we’ll go? Arya’ll kill us if we don’t make it in time.”

 

“Sounds good,” Mr. Stark said.

 

Sansa handed her her card and said, _Call me_ and then grabbed her things and walked away.

 

“She’s so nice,” she said to Mr. Stark once they were alone.

 

“She is at that,” he said warily, and her stomach fell.

 

She knew he wouldn’t be happy about any of this. She must seem like a lovesick school girl, desperate for his approval. Which she kind of was, but she usually took great pains not to seem that way.

 

“I’ve uh, gotta go,” he said, “I’ll see you.”

 

“Bye,” she said.

 

It wasn’t until after he’d left, when she was going to pack up, that she saw the little folded piece of paper he’d placed in front of her.

 

***

 

They drove in silence towards Arya’s fencing competition, their easy banter from the car ride over gone.

 

She didn’t say anything until they pulled into the high school’s parking lot.

 

“No,” she said simply.

 

“No what?,” he asked, though he knew.

 

“Robby I get it. She’s beautiful and sweet and bright, but no,” she said shaking her head.

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he lied.

 

“I saw it!,” Sansa argued, “I saw the way you looked at her. No, do you hear me? You can’t do it.”

 

“If you really saw the way I looked at her, Dovey,” he said with a sigh, “You’d know that I already did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun dunnnn


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know what to say about this one...

His doorbell rang at 6:02, and he answered the door at 6:02:02 because he had been pacing near it since 5:57.

 

He opened the door, half expecting to find Dean Pycelle and a police officer, but all he saw, _all_ he saw was Myrcella Baratheon looking gorgeous in a long sleeved black dress.

 

 

He wasn’t sure that she’d come. He had hoped she would, surely, when he’d passed her that piece of paper with his address and a time on it. But he hadn’t been sure.

 

“I have to be at dinner by 8,” she said adamantly.

 

“Okay,” he nodded.

 

“I can’t be late,” she said from his front porch, she hadn’t yet stepped inside.

 

“You won’t be,” he promised.

 

“Okay,” she nodded.

 

She looked at him once more and then she jumped clean into his arms. He caught her to him and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He kicked his door shut and then pressed her up against it. Their mouths met in quick, urgent kisses and he pushed her harder against the door, removing his hands from her body so that he could unbutton his jeans and pull them down.

 

Her hands were in his hair and her tongue was in his ear and he needed her more desperately than he’d ever needed anyone. He ripped her panties clean off of her, black lace falling to his floor and she took his face between her hands and kissed him again.

 

“ _Please_ ,” she whimpered. “I need to feel you, I feel like I’ll go mad if I don’t, _please, please_.”

 

“Seven hells,” he groaned and pulled her down onto him. _“FUCK!_ ”

 

She was designed for him, he was sure of it. She was tight and warm and so wet. He thrust into her and she let out a strangled moan. He thrust again and she did it again.

 

“Am…I…hurting you?,” he sputtered out as he thrust into her again and again.

 

“No…no…please _don’t_ stop,” she begged, “I’m just trying to be quiet.”

 

“That’s my good girl,” he said, “But you don’t have to be quiet here. I don’t _want_ you to be quiet here.”

 

He thrust into her again and she let out a moan deep from within. He rolled his hips against her and she cried out.

 

He felt his balls tightening, there was no way he’d last. Not with those sounds. Not when he’d waited so long. He held her with one arm and brought the other hand in between them, stroking her pearl and making her spasm.

 

“Be a good girl for me,” he pleaded, “Come. COME NOW.”

 

“Mother, maiden, stranger, _crone_ ,” she gasped and then her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

 

“I’m so close, sweet girl,” he said, “Will you finish my off in your mouth, I’m not wearing a condom…”

 

“I’ll finish you off anyway you want,” she said panting, “Later. But I’m on the pill and I want to feel you come inside me. Please. Please Mr. Stark come for me.”

 

“ _Fuuuuuck_ ,” he cried, releasing into her.

 

His whole body shook as he held her tight, burying his face in her neck. He removed himself from her but held her there, not quite ready to let her go.

 

Her body started shaking then and he pulled away when he heard her laughing.

 

“What’s so funny?,” he asked her, still recovering.

 

“Nothing I’m just…,” she said, shaking her head, “Overwhelmed. I’m sorry,” she said and kissed him sweetly, clearly afraid he’d be upset, “I’m not… as experienced and it just…took my by surprise.”

 

“Don’t apologize,” he murmured, kissing her, “Great sex is supposed to be overwhelming.”

 

“It was great?,” she asked sweetly, “Really?”

 

“You were there,” he teased her, “Don’t you know?”

 

She looked at him and nodded and he captured her lips again, pressing her back up against the wall and threading his fingers in her soft hair. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, her tongue touching his softly.

 

He kissed his way across her cheek and then to her neck. He heard her sigh her fingers trailing his back and he closed his mouth around her earlobe and he felt her nails digging into him.

 

“Mmm is that your spot, sweet girl?,” he murmured against her.

 

“Mr. Stark,” she squeaked. He ginned against her and went to tug on it with his teeth but she whispered, “Mr. Stark don’t move. _There’s a wolf in here_.”

 

***

 

It was mean. He knew it was.

 

“There’s a what?,” he asked softly.

 

“A. _wolf,_ ” she whispered clinging to him, her thighs clenched around him.

 

He turned his head slowly and saw Grey Wind standing in the hallway looking at them curiously. It wasn’t his fault, he hadn’t seen a non-Stark girl here in quite some time.

 

“Don’t be frightened,” he told her, “I’ll deal with this beast.”

 

“Mr. Stark, no!,” she whisper-hissed as he had to rather forcefully remove her from him.

 

He turned around and moved to step forward and she grabbed him back. She was strong, much stronger than she looked and she caught him by surprise so he fell back against her. She placed her hand over his heart, and he suddenly felt terrible for playing a joke on her.

 

She was so sweet and nervous for him.

 

He took pity on her and said to Grey Wind, “Sit.” Grey Wind gave him a stubborn look, as though he didn’t like him playing tricks on her so he repeated, “ _Sit_.”

 

He sat with a humph back on his haunches.

 

“Myrcella, meet Grey Wind,” he said, stepping aside.

 

“ _Myrcella meet Grey Wind?_ ,” she repeated incredulously.

 

“He’s only part wolf, by the way,” Robb said casually.

 

“Only part…,” she repeated and shook her head, “You are a piece of work and I’ll deal with you in a minute,” she said sternly and then turned and in a very different voice said, “ _Hello Grey Wind_.”

 

The stubborn look was gone and Grey Wind opened his mouth in that way that always made Robb believe he was smiling. Myrcella must have thought so too because she crossed to him and let him sniff her hand. He nuzzled against it and she pet his head, making his tail thwack.

 

“Oh you are just _so sweet aren’t you_?,” she cooed at him. She knelt down on the ground and he rubbed himself up against her. She wrapped her arms around him and stroked his fur.

 

“He’s going to get you all dirty,” Robb protested.

 

“Oh _who cares he’s wooorth it aren’t you Grey Wind?_ ,” she cooed again and he tackled her back onto the floor like he _was_ worth it.

 

“By the gods,” Robb mumbled watching the pair of them.

 

“Oh your Daddy’s just grumpy because I like you better _isn’t that right_?,” she asked Grey Wind, “You’re just so handsome and you’d never play mean tricks on me would you, boy?”

 

Grey Wind licked her face, confirming that he would not and Robb had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He would _not_ focus on how adorable this was. He _certainly_ wouldn’t think about how his cock had twitched when she’d said _Daddy_. And he absolutely was not under any circumstances going to think about how Roslin had always asked him to put Grey Wind outside when she came over. Nope. There wasn’t a single fucking thought in his head as he watched Myrcella press kisses to Grey Wind’s forehead, his wolf’s eyes closed in contentment at being adored by the beautiful girl below him. NOT A ONE.

 

“Do you want some help?,” he asked her when it became obvious that Grey Wind would happily use her as his doggy bed until the day he died.

 

“Yes please,” she said with a giggle and reached a small hand up.

 

He took it and pulled her to her feet. He wasn’t entirely sure how she’d managed to keep her high heels on through it all, but it meant that when he pulled her close to him her forehead was right near his lips. It seemed wasteful not to press a kiss there so he did.

 

“That was very mean of you, Mr. Stark,” she said in a cold voice. She looked up at him, and said, “Very monstrous of you.”

 

He felt his cock twitching back to life as her eyes narrowed at him.

 

“I’m sorry, Miss Baratheon…,” he said with a grin.

 

“I think you should be punished,” she said haughtily.

 

“Are you going to spank me?,” he teased.

 

“Spank?,” she scoffed, as though that was child’s play, “Please.”

 

With that she removed her dress, revealing a black lace bra that would have matched the underwear he’d ruined. She was still in her heels but naked in between and he’d never seen a body as glorious as hers.

 

“Which way is your bedroom?,” she asked, one hand on her hip as it jutted to the side.

 

She wasn’t ashamed, why would she be? Maybe Sansa would design lingerie and she could model that too.

 

“Uhhthatway,” he stumbled out like he was in high school himself.

 

She turned on her heel and walked in the direction he pointed and he did the only thing he was capable of, he followed her.

 

He had seen her ass the other day, but he hadn’t really seen the indents at the small of her back or the delicate curve from her slender waist to her hips. The way her hair hit the middle of her back, how despite her height her legs seemed long and shapely.

 

He followed her into the bedroom, thankful he’d tidied up and watched as she kicked her heels off before climbing on his bed. She settled herself back against the pillows and crossed her ankles primly.

 

“I want to have an orgasm,” she stated.

 

“Giving you an orgasm is hardly a punishment,” he told her stupidly.

 

“I never said anything about _you_ giving me an orgasm,” she noted. “You’re going to teach me how to give myself one.”

 

“With pleasure,” he said, stepping forward.

 

She held up a hand and said, “But you can’t touch me,” and he nodded. Now he understood the game. She wasn’t finished though and added triumphantly with a small smile, “Or yourself.”

 

***

 

She was pretty sure she’d left Myrcella Baratheon somewhere out on Route 9. That poor girl was probably trying desperately to get cell reception wondering if she was going to be hacked to pieces.

 

Because there was no way that Myrcella Baratheon would demand that her literature teacher teach her how to masturbate.

 

She poured one out internally to Myrcella Baratheon and didn’t give her another thought though because her literature teacher was looking at her like he wanted to make a meal out of her.

 

“And that’s my punishment,” he said, his voice like gravel.

 

“That’s your punishment. And if you’re a good boy, I’ll reward you. I want to reward you. Will you let me?,” she asked, throwing the words that had haunted her back in his face.

 

He nodded and then closed his eyes and shook his head.

 

“Okay well get comfortable, for starters,” he said and she readjusted against the pillows. “Start to touch yourself. It doesn’t have to be your cunt at first. Trail your fingers up your stomach.”

 

She did as he said and let her fingers wander over the soft skin of her stomach.

 

“Good and now let them rove over that body of yours, anywhere they want to go,” he said in a hypnotic voice.

 

She moved one hand down, gripping her thigh just as he had done. Her other hand went up, tracing across her neck and down to her breastbone.

 

“That’s a good girl, now rub your breast over your bra until you feel your nipple peak,” he urged.

 

She did as he asked, cupping her small breast in her palm and running her thumb over her nipple.

 

“It’s hard,” she sighed.

 

“Good, now pinch it,” he ordered.

 

“Mr. Stark,” she protested.

 

“Trust me,” he said, “Go on, be a good girl for me.”

 

She pinched her nipple and a shot of pleasure ran through her. Her back arched off the pillows and she did it again. She rubbed her legs together, trying to ease the tension building at her center.

 

“Now start thinking about something that turns you on,” he said, his voice like gravel. “And when you have it bring your hand down to your cunt.

 

She thought of him spanking her, of the feel of his beard tickling her thighs as he licked her. She let her hand trail down her body and rubbed her lips.

 

“Open your legs for me, sweet girl,” he said softly and she placed her feet on the bed and let her legs fall open. “Mmm such a good girl, aren’t you?,” he said, his voice like silk. “Explore that sweet cunt of yours slowly, we’ve got all the time in the world.”

 

She did as he said, letting her fingers wander over herself. She was wet, from her, and from him, and the thought was so intoxicating that she let out a whimper.

 

“Find that little pearl for me,” he went on, she moved her fingers over her clit and let out a moan, “That’s right. Now be greedy, rub your breast too…mmm just like that.”

 

She circled her clit and let out a sharp moan. She felt that familiar pressure building.

 

“You’re close, you’re almost there, come on, sweet girl, just like that, you’re so lovely when you come and now you can do it anytime you want,” he said reassuringly, “That’s it. Just _like that_.”

 

“Please touch me,” she cried, not being able to quite get there.

 

“Keep touching yourself, tell me what do you want me to do,” he said, walking closer.

 

“I want your hands,” she whimpered, still rubbing herself, squeezing her breast, “I want to feel your mouth, your beard against my _thighs_ ,” she cried, increasing her speed just thinking about it.

 

“What else?,” he asked, “Tell me what else you want. Don’t stop.”

 

“I want to feel your cock inside me,” she cried, the feeling building, bringing her higher and higher, “I want you to spank me, please _please_ Mr. Stark.”

 

“Look at me,” he said sternly.

 

She hadn’t realised she’d closed her eyes but she opened them now, saw the deep pools of his eyes and all of a sudden she fell.

 

***

 

As far as punishments went, it was the harshest he’d ever received.

 

To watch her, nearly naked and moaning and rubbing herself, it was like nothing he’d ever seen. It was even better than he’d imagined, the crease in her brow as she concentrated, the flush on her cheeks, the little pout of her lips. Her body was magnificent, flawless and the sounds she was making…

 

She fell back against the pillows. His pillows. They’d smell like her now and he wasn’t sure that he’d ever wash them again.

 

Her eyes were closed and there was a smile on her face, her hand still covering her breast.

 

“Myrcella,” he said.

 

She opened her eyes dreamily, like a princess in a fairytale waking up after a long slumber, and said, “You were a good boy.”

 

He nodded. He wouldn’t normally like being called a boy but he didn’t mind it coming from her. Not when she said it so sweetly.

 

“Would you like your reward?,” she asked. He nodded again. “Which reward would you like? My mouth or my…”

 

“Say it,” he said.

 

“Cunt,” she said softly.

 

“I want your mouth,” he told her, “And then your cunt.”

 

She smiled and got off the bed, “You’re greedy,” she said with narrowed eyes, and stood on her tiptoes and kissed the corner of his lips, “And spoiled. Just like me.”

 

“That’s right. Now on your knees, Miss Baratheon,” he said with a teasing lilt in his voice.

 

She took it for the order it was though and lowered herself, her eyes on his all the while. He wasn’t entirely sure where she’d learned this and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know, so he focused instead on her jade eyes and the way she bit her lip as she pulled down his jeans.

 

Her eyes got wide as she released his cock and she held it in her hand as though testing it’s weight.

 

“Open your mouth,” he said.

 

She looked up at him and opened her mouth, letting her tongue trail over her bottom lip.

 

“Little fucking minx,” he growled and pushed his cock into her mouth. She enveloped him immediately and it was he that pulled himself out of her, exiting with a _pop_. He groaned and pushed back inside of her and he felt her tongue circling him. “Oh that’s good, can you taste yourself sweet girl?”

 

She nodded on him, gliding down his length until he felt his tip at the back of her throat. _Fuuuck_.

 

“Mmm you’re good at this,” he said, and couldn’t help himself and asked, “Are you down on your knees for the Martell boy a lot?”

 

She looked up at him and shook her head _no_ , puckering her lips as she dragged them back on his length. He took her at her word, she had never lied to him before.

 

“That’s good, I only want you down on your knees for me,” he said, “You look so good with my cock in your mouth.” She let out a moan and he chuckled, thrusting into her, “Oh do you like hearing that, sweet girl? Such a good girl, you just want to please me don’t you?”

 

She nodded on him and gripped the back of his legs, moving back and forth on his cock.

 

He felt himself growing close. Those eyes, that mouth, her tongue, it was all too much and he hadn’t been lying, he wanted back in her cunt. The sweetest place he knew.

 

He pulled himself out of her reluctantly and moved back until he was sitting on the bed.

 

“Come here,” he said, offering her his hand.

 

She took it and rose, coming to stand between his legs. He unsnapped her bra and brushed it aside, pulling her closer to him. She was so tiny without her heels that he had to bend to capture her nipple in his mouth.

 

She arched her back, pressing herself against him, her head falling back and her fingers weaving into his hair.

 

“ _Mr. Stark_ ,” she moaned.

 

That wouldn’t do anymore. Not now. Not in his home. Not when she’d rolled on the floor with his dog. Not when she’d gotten along so easily with his sister. Not when she was naked before him, stroking his hair so gently.

 

“You know my name,” he said, “Use it. Please.”

 

He latched onto her other nipple and she moaned, “ _Robb.”_

 

He spanked her once, making her yelp and then he placed his hands on the backs of her thighs and lifted her up, pulling her onto his lap, straddling him.

 

She pulled the hem of his t shirt up, he only realised then that he was still wearing it. He lifted his arms and let her take it off of him and watched as her eyes trailed down his chest. Her fingers threaded through his chest hair.

 

“Soft?,” he asked her with a small grin.

 

She smiled and nodded, “Unlike…”

 

He caught her meaning easily and kept his eyes on hers as he pulled her down onto him. Her eyes got paler, if it was possible and though her body was a feast for the eyes before him, he found he could look nowhere else.

 

Her hands rested on his shoulders and he held her hips, rolling her on him. Her mouth fell open and she looked almost like she was in pain but then she let out a soft moan.

 

She rocked back and forth on him, and his hands fell lazily to her ass, not to guide her movements but just to hold onto her.

 

“Is this okay?,” she asked, “Does it feel okay?”

 

“Not the word I would use,” he growled at her.

 

He took her by the back of her head and pulled her to him so that he could capture her lips. She rode him nice and slow, each rock of her hips took him in deeper.

 

Their first time had been quick and passionate and vicious and she had seemed to love it but there was something to her now. Something vulnerable and soft that he wanted to hold onto even as it shamed him for what he was doing.

 

“ _Robb_ ,” she whimpered, tears in her eyes.

 

“I know, I know, sweet girl,” he said honestly, because he _did_ know. He was feeling it too. He knew. A part of him had always known. “Shh shh shh I’ve got you.”

 

“ _Robb_ ,” she said again as though it was the only word she remembered, her eyes on his. She was asking for something, something he wasn’t sure of but he did the only thing he could thing of and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

 

“I’ve got you,” he repeated, gripping the back of her neck gently, his other arm wrapped around her back, his hand resting in the divets of her ribs. “Let go, sweet girl, let go.”

 

She came with a sigh, his only indication her walls tightening around him, and he followed quickly after. She slumped against him, burying her face in his neck, which was just as well because he had no intention of releasing her.

 

***

 

Her mind was blank. That had never really happened to her before. It was ceaselessly pleasant, of that she could be sure at least.

 

Her face was buried in Mr. Stark’s _Robb’s_ neck and she was breathing him in. He smelled like nothing she’d ever smelled before. It was rugged and manly but clean and fresh too. _Like snow falling in the forest._

 

He held her as though he had no intention of letting her go and she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her breasts against his strong chest.

 

“I can’t go again,” he said with a chuckle, “I’m an old man.”

 

She grinned and pulled away, “You are not, you’re…well how old are you, actually?”

 

“I’m twenty four,” he said. _Twenty four? I knew it. He’s a year younger than Gendry._

 

“Twenty four is not old, you can’t even rent a car,” she pointed out.

 

“Well I can’t argue with that logic,” he said.

 

“Twenty _four_ ,” she said again.

 

In spite of what she’d said, it sounded so grown up. It wasn’t so much that it seemed so terribly old, only that it seemed so terribly _free_. When she was twenty four she’d be done with school, unless she went to pursue her masters. She wouldn’t have to live at home. She’d be able to _meet for drinks_ after work.

 

“Eighteen,” he said with a sigh.

 

She didn’t like the sound of that sigh. That sigh was the sound of him changing his mind, and she didn’t want him to do that. She didn’t want to think that this would be the last time.

 

“Robb,” she said, purposefully using his first name. As though it were perfectly natural that she’d be sitting on her literature teacher’s lap completely naked. _Nothing to see here folks_.

 

“Myrcella,” he said with an amused grin lurking somewhere in his eyes.

 

“Is it alright…that I agreed to model for Sansa?,” she asked.

 

It had been nagging her all afternoon. She hadn’t really felt like she could say no, and truthfully she hadn’t wanted to. She had never thought about modelling, but Sansa was so kind, and her designs were so beautiful. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

 

“It’s alright with _me_ ,” he said, “But you shouldn’t let her push you into it if you don’t want to do it.”

 

“I do want to though… It’s going to be _terrifying_ but she won’t let me look stupid,” she said.

 

“No,” Robb said shaking his head, “Sansa would never do that. _Little Dove_ means so much to her, she wouldn’t have asked if she didn’t think you were the right fit. And besides… it’s not like you don’t have the face for it.”

 

She realised then that he had never told her that she was pretty. Trystane told her all of the time, but even still, she had never felt sexier or more desired than she did when Robb was looking at her.

 

“Are you blushing?,” he asked her, stroking her cheek, “You’re a smart girl, Myrcella. You know there isn’t a model in the Seven Kingdoms prettier than you.”

 

She rolled her eyes, “Stop it.”

 

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “Don’t do that. Beauty like yours is not to be scoffed at. Is that clear?”

 

“Yes Mr. Stark,” she said softly.

 

He looked at his bedside table and then looked back at her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, “It’s 7:30.”

 

“Okay,” she said with a shrug, tracing his bottom lip with her index finger.

 

“You have to be at dinner at 8,” he pointed out.

 

“Oh!,” she said, and nodded reluctantly. His large hands wandered up and down her back in a comforting rhythm and she really wasn’t very hungry when she thought about it. “Well… I suppose I could be a little late…,” she said, looking into his stormy eyes, “I mean if there was something _really important_ to do.”

 

He grinned and stood up, before tackling her to the bed with a growl, catching her giggle on his lips.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loving the enthusiasm guys!
> 
> I do warn you, I don't think the relationship with Trystane is going to end as quickly as people would like. You know Myrcella should dump him, I know Myrcella should dump him, even Myrcella knows she should dump him...but even still...sorry, I hope you accept my non-perfect-morality Myrcella.
> 
> Anyway, this is just a quick one.

_Myrcella: I’m home alone, come over…_

 

_Robb: Are you insane? No._

 

_Myrcella: Pretty please?_

 

_Robb: No. Come here._

 

_Myrcella: But I’m already in bed…_

 

_Robb: So get out of bed lazybones. I’ll make it worth you’re while, you know I will._

 

_Myrcella: But I’m already naked._

 

_Robb: Text me your address. I’ll be there in twenty._

 

***

 

Myrcella couldn’t help but chuckle to herself after she texted Robb her address. He may be her teacher and in his twenties, but boys were boys. They were just so easy.

 

She had been being lazy most of the day, reading and listening to music. She’d gone horseback riding in the morning and then come home, happy to be on her own in her big old house. Her parents were away, her mother off with her Uncle at some conference for their business (though why there was a conference over the weekend she had no idea) and her father was off with whichever mistress was available.

 

It was often this way, now that Joff and Tommen were gone. Joff had been traveling around Essos for the past year which was just as well and Tommen was at boarding school in Dorne. His was the only absence she felt, but she’d video chatted with him earlier in the day and he’d been tan and happy and had promised he’d be home for her graduation.

 

She hopped out of bed and went into her bathroom. She brushed her teeth and washed her face, patting it dry and then pulled off her t shirt and yoga pants and underwear and threw them in her hamper.

 

She walked naked to her closet and grabbed out her thin light pink robe and pulled it on her and grabbed her slippers as well because the marble floors downstairs were cold even in the height of summer.

 

That had taken all of three minutes, and now she had another seventeen to wait. She went down the stairs, turning on the light in front and checked her phone.

 

_Trystane: Hey baby, want me to grab you on my way to Marg’s?_

 

_Myrcella: Hi you, Uncle Renley called and needs me to babysit. Drink all the beers for me._

 

_Trystane: Want some company…wink wink_

 

_Myrcella: Sorry, handsome. Lya’s got a cold so I’m going to have my hands full. Have fun!_

 

She felt that familiar gnawing in her stomach that she felt anytime she thought of Trystane. She was cheating on him, there was no other word for it. She had always been told that she took after her mother’s side of the family, but now she wasn’t sure. Perhaps she had some of her father in her too.

 

She had never thought that she’d be the kind of girl to cheat on someone. It wasn’t in her nature to be cruel to anyone, let alone someone who was as sweet as Trystane.

 

It defied logic, really, that Trystane was as sweet as he was. He was gorgeous and popular, wealthy beyond reason and horribly bright. He was the captain of the waterpolo and the lacrosse teams and if Vale Academy would do something as trite as having a Prom King there would be no contest. Even still, he was a genuinely nice guy. Sure he was cocky and a bit entitled, but he was never cruel. He was more apt to invite someone to a party than he was to exclude someone and he treated her like she walked on water.

 

She wasn’t sure what to do about any of it though. She’d been with him for nearly a year, but she knew they’d break up come summer anyway. She was off to Citadel University and he was heading to Storm’s End. They were meant to go to prom together. He was the boy she was supposed to point to in her photo album when she had kids of her own.

 

And Robb? He could never take her to prom. He wouldn’t even if he could, she was sure. That wasn’t what this was. This was sex. An _affair_. Pure and simple.

 

Even when it felt like it wasn’t.

 

She didn’t have time to think on that further though, because thankfully, that is when her doorbell rang.

 

She fluffed her hair and opened the door to find a gorgeous Robb Stark, and he looked positively livid.

 

***

 

He was livid.

 

He had just had a near run in with a cavity search from a man who had introduced himself as _The Hound_. He’d been lucky the man hadn’t asked for his license. He’d simply said, “You’re Billy right? The little lion is expecting you.”

 

His palms were twitching.

 

He should turn around, go back to his house. _That_ would teach her a lesson alright.

 

But he had driven all the way here and the house was dark, so it seemed like a horrible waste to leave now. Not when he could actually _enjoy_ her punishment.

 

She opened the door with a smile on her face, which faltered slightly when she saw his face. She looked gorgeous and innocent in her light pink robe and fuzzy slippers and it just made him angrier.

 

“You said you were naked,” he growled at her petulantly.

 

“I did, didn’t I?,” she said and dropped the robe, raising one eyebrow.

 

Nothing could compare to seeing her naked. Literally nothing. He’d been to all the museums with Sansa. He knew that artists had been painting naked women forever because you know, it was _compelling_ and all that, but seriously, _nothing_ could compare to her naked.

 

He slammed the door shut and she stepped forward, completely ignoring his foul mood. She took his jacket off of him and rubbed her hands on his chest as she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his lips.

 

She folded his jacket and placed it on the settee in the hallway and came back to him.

 

“Thank you for coming,” she said sweetly, placing her hands on his shoulders and kissing him again.

 

“ _Thank you for coming?,”_ he asked incredulously. He placed his hands on her cheeks, “Do you not understand that I’m _furious_?”

 

“Furious?,” she asked innocently, turning her face and kissing his palm and his wrist which made his damn heart flutter and only made him angrier. “Did someone cut you off on the road?”

 

“Did some- _oh you are a piece of work_ ,” he quoted her. He bent down and threw her over his shoulder, standing back up.

 

“Robb!,” she giggled.

 

“It’s Mr. Stark to you right now,” he growled at her and he could smell her arousal. “Which way is your bedroom?”

 

“That way,” she said, pointing up and behind her.

 

He started walking up the stairs and he felt her elbows on his back as though she was propping her chin on her hand the way she did in class. As though she wasn’t _in for it_.

 

“You’ve got a nice butt, have I ever told you that?,” she asked curiously.

 

“No,” he said in annoyance and bit her ass for emphasis.

 

She squealed so he spanked it and she chuckled, a deep belly laugh that made him smile in spite of himself.

 

“Well you do, it is _saweet_ ,” she cooed, “Maybe I _should_ spank you.”

 

“Which way,” he said, having to fight to keep the sternness in his voice.

 

“To the left,” she said, “One hop this time. Reverse, reverse!”

 

“Are…was that the Cha-Cha Slide?,” he asked her incredulously.

 

“The what?,” she asked.

 

“You know,” he said, “The Cha-Cha Slide. People do it at weddings…”

 

“Did you hit your head?,” she asked.

 

“Myrcella, how do you not know it? It’s like right foot let’s stomp…,” he said stomping is right foot. “Left foot let’s stomp,” he said stomping his left foot.

 

“Why is it called the Cha-Cha slide?,” she asked curiously.

 

“Because you cha-cha,” he said, and then did his best version of the cha-cha.

 

There was that chuckle again, “I can’t believe you fell for that. This butt of yours looks even better in motion.”

 

“Oh you are dead,” he said, but he was laughing too, and brought her into her bedroom.

 

He plopped her on her bed and crawled on top of her, tickling her. She squealed and tried to fight him off, laughing all the while.

 

Her hair was in her face so he brushed it off of her and she looked up with those jade eyes of hers.

 

“Robb?,” she asked quietly.

 

“Yeah, Myrcella?,” he said.

 

“Can you punish me later?,” she asked.

 

He looked down at her, the flush on her cheeks, the brightness in her eyes. She was so beautiful and he wanted her so badly. He couldn’t even remember what he was mad about so he nodded.

 

He stroked her soft cheek and said, “Yeah, sweet girl, I can do that.”

 

And then he kissed her.


	8. Chapter 8

The day had mercifully come to an end. The warmer the days got, the more painful it became trying to teach his students anything. Even the other faculty was restless, looking towards a long summer of odd jobs and no lesson plans.

 

He packed up his things and turned out the light of his classroom, walking through the senior hall that would take him out to the parking lot.

 

He waved to a few of his students. Even though they had turned lazy they were still overall sweet kids and they had been raised gently, which meant when an authority figure walked by they straightened up and smiled dutifully.

 

He tried not to let his eyes wander down the hall to her locker, but he couldn’t help it. She wasn’t making it terribly easy for him. She was surrounded by a group of her friends, Vale Academy didn’t really have cliques but if it did, hers would be the popular one. She was quiet, quieter than the other girls, but they all seemed to rotate around her. Her cousin Shireen, a junior, twirled as Margery Tyrell seemingly inspected a new dress.

 

“Have a nice day, Mr. Stark,” Margery cooed.

 

“And you, Miss Tyrell,” he said, his smile a firm line.

 

He didn’t meet Myrcella’s eyes, he couldn’t, so he just kept walking.

 

“Mr. Stark?,” he heard her soft voice call.

 

He turned and tried not to glare at her, “Yes Miss Baratheon?”

 

“I have a question…on the reading,” she said, extricating herself from her friends, “Can I walk out with you?”

 

“Of course,” he nodded and she walked towards him.

 

She was wearing a patterned skirt with a men’s white button down tucked into the front and a pair of flats, her legs already golden from weekends spent outside playing tennis.

 

She caught up with him and they turned towards the door.

 

“I can’t believe you’re wearing that,” he scolded, knowing that their conversation would be drowned out by the noise in the hall.

 

“Why?,” she asked curiously, looking down at herself, “I thought it looked cute. Doesn’t it?”

 

He chuckled, “Do not play with me Miss Baratheon.”

 

The sight of her in his shirt was doing terrible things to him. He wanted to take her up against a locker. He wanted to bend her over his desk while she was wearing only that. He wanted her, plain and simple.

 

_“Come on lazybones,” he said, pulling her up._

 

_“I can’t go out there like this,” she said, gesturing down to her deliciously naked form while digging her heels in and tugging back on him._

 

_“I literally fucked you on the kitchen table yesterday,” he reminded her._

 

_“Yes but Grey Wind is out there,” she hissed._

 

_“So…he’s a dog,” he said with a grin._

 

_“Robb,” she pleaded._

 

_“Fiiine,” he sighed, as though it were such an imposition._

 

_He had pulled on boxers, so he figured it was fair if she wanted clothes too. She’d worn some complicated dress, having come from a cocktail party with her family, and he understood her not wanting to put it back on. He went into his closet and grabbed an old white oxford shirt and went to hand it to her._

 

_She held her arms out with a grin and he sighed, pulling one arm through and then the other. She made no move to button it so he buttoned two buttons, that was all she was getting. The sleeves fell far past her hands so he rolled one up and then the other._

 

_When he was finished he looked at her and found her grinning from ear to ear._

 

_“What?,” he asked curiously._

 

_“Nothing, just thinking that in a past life you might have been a very good handmaiden,” she said with a rueful smile, standing on her tiptoes and kissing his lips._

 

_“Please,” he scoffed, “I was the best handmaiden.”_

 

_“What about a cook?,” she asked._

 

_“You are so spoiled,” he said, though his stomach was rumbling too and he was glad he’d picked up stuff to make homemade pizza._

 

_She put her hands on his shoulders and jumped up, wrapping her legs around him._

 

_“You’re right,” she said, “So I’m keeping the shirt.”_

 

_“Rotten,” he amended, walking her out of his bedroom and down the hallway, “Positively rotten.”_

 

_“A handmaiden, a cook, and a chauffeur,” she said, leaning her head on his shoulder, “I could get used to this.”_

 

_Me too, sweet girl, me too._

 

“I want you,” she said, echoing his thoughts. “Can I come over?”

 

“If you do,” he said, pausing to smile at Brienne as they got outside into the warm spring air, “Grey Wind is going outside.”

 

She looked over at him with fire in his eyes. The last time she’d been there he had tied her to the bed and having his way with her until she was crying half in pleasure and half in pain. Grey Wind hadn’t liked that at all, and he still growled this morning when he came into the room.

 

“I’ll be-,” she started to say but was cut off.

 

“OI PRINCESS!,” a man shouted at her.

 

Myrcella turned with a bright smile and threw her head back and laughed, dropping her stupid fucking bag, and running towards the man.

 

He had to be his age, at least, and she jumped free and sure into his arms.

 

Robb picked up her bag, and followed her over there, because he figured it would seem weird if he didn’t. Plus he was curious and if he was being honest, a bit jealous. _Isn’t Trystane bad enough?_

 

“Gendry what are you doing here?,” Myrcella asked as he placed her down, not letting go over her though as she burrowed into his chest.

 

“I had to check on my baby sister,” Gendry said, his eyes on him.

 

He was looking at him the way Robb knew that he looked at boys when he was with Arya or Sansa. It was a look that said _Keep on walking_.

 

“I’m hardly your _baby_ sister,” Myrcella said stubbornly, stepping away from him.

 

He held onto her though and tucked her under his arm. He offered Robb his hand and said, “Gendry Waters.”

 

“Robb Stark,” he said, shaking it. The handshake was, well firm would be putting it kindly. “I’m Myrcella’s literature teacher.”

 

Gendry relaxed at that and said with an easy smile, “So you’re the one who has to read her long ass papers.”

 

“Gendry!,” Myrcella scolded, “Just because you have the vocabulary of an oak tree…”

 

Robb chuckled as did Gendry. He didn’t want to intrude any longer so he offered Myrcella her bag. She blushed and went to grab it but Gendry took it and slung it over his shoulder.

 

“Seriously,” Gendry said though, “How’s my girl doing?”

 

“Gendry leave him alone,” Myrcella said, reminding him of himself when Sansa had bombarded her at the coffee shop.

 

She had handled that with such grace though and it was no skin off his nose to talk about her honestly as a student, “She writes more like a senior in college than a senior in high school. She’s a great talent.”

 

“She got all the brains, I got all the looks,” Gendry said and Myrcella rolled her eyes.

 

“You’ve got a great brain the trouble is you never seem to use it,” she said primly and Gendry bursted out laughing.

 

Robb grinned and took his leave.

 

“I’ll see you-,” she started to say.

 

“Tomorrow,” he answered. It was obvious they didn’t get to see each other all the time and he wasn’t going to let his horniness get in the way of that, “See you in class tomorrow, Miss Baratheon. Gendry, it was nice meeting you.”

 

“And you,” Gendry said, giving him one last look before looking down at Myrcella, “Record store or ice cream.”

 

“Both,” Myrcella said with a smile, “In that order.”

 

It made him miss Arya, but as he walked away from them he realised that he wouldn’t mind having an afternoon like that with Myrcella either. Wouldn’t have minded at all.

 

***

 

“He wants you,” Gendry said as they drove to town.

 

“Harry does not want me,” she scoffed, “He’s Trystane’s best friend and he’s dating Margery. He just flirts with everyone.”

 

“I’m not talking about Harry,” Gendry said, tapping on the steering wheel with his thumb, “I’m talking about that literature teacher of yours. I mean seriously, how can they even have someone like that teaching you?”

 

“Someone like what?,” she asked in annoyance, “He’s highly educated, is very kind and he’s an incredible teacher.”

 

“Yeah and he’s what? 23? 24?,” he asked her.

 

She wouldn’t take the bait, “Your guess is as good as mine.”

 

“You’re fucking sleeping with him,” he said.

 

“How dare you?,” she asked rounding on him. I mean she was, but there’s no way that _he_ could know that.

 

“How dare _I?_ How dare he?,” he asked, “I am going to fucking murder him.”

 

“Gendry calm down. You have no idea what you’re talking about, you met him for all of five seconds,” she pointed out.

 

“Yeah and how long do you think I was watching you two before I called out,” he asked and she blushed. She hadn’t thought of that. “Don’t tell me I have no idea what I’m talking about, Ella.”

 

She went silent. She could never properly lie to Gendry, he always saw right through her.

 

“You can’t say anything,” she said, “You can’t _do_ anything. It isn’t his fault, I’m the one… I’m… promise me.”

 

“Seven hells,” Gendry said, pulling into a parking space, “He’s got you thinking you’re in love with him, hasn’t he?”

 

“He hasn’t got me thinking anything,” she protested, looking into his eyes. It was awkward talking about it with him but she’d rather suffer a little bit of awkwardness than have him misunderstand. “He isn’t like that. It’s me. I wanted him. He’s…”

 

“Good looking and older and smart,” Gendry said, nodding, “I get it. It’s not exactly an original story. And I don’t blame you, you’re…you’re in a tough spot. You’re too mature for guys like Trystane and too young for guys like Mr. Don Juan. It’s normal to be attracted to older guys, to an authority figure… he just shoulda known better.”

 

“I should have known better too,” she said, not liking Robb getting all the blame, “I _do_ know better. But even still…”

 

He stroked her hair, “I won’t say anything, for now. Okay? But the minute, the _fucking minute_ that he hurts you I am calling in the dogs so quick…I’ll even call your mother.”

 

“Gendry!,” she said in faux-horror.

 

“That’s how serious I am,” he said with the easy grin they shared. Neither of them were prone to long bouts of anger or melancholy, preferring to smile at a world that usually smiled at them. “Don’t make me regret it.”

 

“I won’t,” she promised.

 

They had a lovely afternoon. They spent hours in the record store, listening to old and new music alike, dancing down the aisles and walking out with armfuls each. They went for ice cream and he told her all about his new job and his new girlfriend and how he wasn’t tremendously sure about either. She told him about how guilty she felt about Trystane and how she couldn’t wait for University.

 

By the time he brought her back to school to pick up her car the sky was dusky.

 

They hugged goodbye with promises of seeing each other soon and she got in her car and started to drive.

 

She didn’t realise where she was going until she was parked outside.

 

***

 

“What are you doing here?,” Robb asked angrily, “My sister could be here. Anyone could be here.”

 

Myrcella had just shown up out of the blue, knocking on his door like there was nothing at all the matter with it. He wasn’t sure if he was more annoyed with her for doing it or more annoyed with himself for being so fucking happy to see her.

 

“I wanted to see you,” she said innocently.

 

He slammed the door shut and pushed her up against it, saying, “You cannot come here unannounced,” as he boxed her in, “Do you have any idea how much trouble I could be in if anyone saw you here?”

 

“I’m sorry,” she said, and to her credit she seemed to genuinely mean it.

 

“You should be,” he practically spat at her.

 

“I am, Mr. Stark,” she said, nodding, her doe eyes looking up at him earnestly. “Very sorry,” she went on, and only gave a small smile when she said, “I probably deserve to be punished.”

 

Gods help him, he was hard for her in spite of his anger. Or perhaps because of it, it was hard to tell now.

 

“Is that why you’re here?,” he asked her.

 

He didn’t give her time to answer, spinning her roughly and all but shoving her against the wall. She pressed her cheek against it and he pressed himself to her.

 

“Is this why you’re here, Miss Baratheon?,” he asked her in her ear, thrusting his hard clothed cock against her ass, “Is this what you came for?”

 

“Yes,” she whimpered, “Yes Mr. Stark.”

 

He reached his hands down to the front of her legs, dragging them up. He brought them under her skirt and he felt her squirming against him so he gripped them harshly, “Don’t move.”

 

When she stopped moving he continued his path upwards, going to cup her through her panties but finding none.

 

“Oh you are a naughty girl, aren’t you?,” he asked, letting his fingers trail over her. “Good girls wear panties.”

 

“Good girls don’t fuck their literature teachers,” she pointed out.

 

“Mmm that’s right,” he said, dipping two fingers into her. She was sopping wet and so tight he wanted to shove inside of her immediately. “Good girls don’t get wet for their literature teachers, do they?”

 

“No sir,” she said. She had never called him that before. He liked it.

 

He dragged his fingers out of her to her protest and brought them up to her lips.

 

“Taste,” he said, “And see what a naughty girl you really are.”

 

She took his fingers in her mouth, sucking them and letting her tongue lather over them.

 

“Mmmm that’s it sweet girl,” he said, “I like your mouth on me. In fact…,” he went on, spinning her once again and unbuckling his belt. “Get on your knees.”

 

He was glad Grey Wind was outside because he would take a bite out of his ass for treating her like this. He’d deserve it, he knew, but she was looking at him with so much desire in her eyes that the stitches would be worth it.

 

She sunk down to her knees and looked up at him.

 

He undid his pants and pulled them down along with his boxers. His cock sprung out, hard as a rock and the beautiful girl below him licked her lips.

 

“If you do a good job I’ll consider fucking you,” he said, which was a load of bullshit. There was no way he wasn’t fucking her.

 

She raised herself up on her knees, and took him inside of her mouth. There was no preamble, no tentative licks, just the immediate engulfment of him in her warm, wet mouth.

 

“Eyes up here, Miss Baratheon,” he chided.

 

Her eyes wandered up to him and he thrust into her mouth. She let out a moan on him and he could have come then and there. She bobbed back and forth on his cock, her mouth making obscene noises on him.

 

He thought about how he might take her as a reward. As a reward, _ha!_ Even he couldn’t believe the bullshit that he spun with her sometimes. She was irresistible, she was like a drug to him and he a hopeless junkie.

 

He’d taken her every way imaginable. Up against a wall, in the shower, bent over his kitchen table. She’d ridden him backwards and forwards. He’d taken her fast and hard and slow and sweet. It didn’t matter to him. Anytime he was inside of her was unadulterated perfection. It felt right and good it felt like ho-

 

_No._

 

He growled to himself which came out as a growl at her. Her eyes got wide and he snapped his hips to make it seem like it had been intentional. She gagged but didn’t complain and he stroked her cheek softly in silent apology.

 

She swirled her tongue on him and he saw stars, letting out a moan. She did it again, bobbing back and forth all the while and he knew he’d never make it to her cunt on this round.

 

“I’m gonna come, sweet girl,” he said, “Do you want my come? Are you going to be a good girl and swallow all of it?”

 

She nodded on him and flicked her tongue again and he was done for. He held her head steady, using her to brace himself as he spasmed into her. His hands fell against the wall then, holding him upright.

 

His eyes were closed, his head bent forward trying to regain some composure.

 

She must have stood up because suddenly she was there, kissing his cheek.

 

She whispered, “Bye Mr. Stark.”

 

He opened his eyes to see her walking towards the door and he tugged her arm back harshly, “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

 

***

 

Nothing compared to making Mr. Stark come for her. She loved pleasing him, she was a fool for him that had become abundantly clear, and feeling him peak for her turned her on more than she could say.

 

His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were closed, he was so beautiful it was hard to look at him, and so angry with her. If she left now, maybe he wouldn’t be mad the next time she’d seen him.

 

She stood up and pressed a kiss to his warm cheek. She wanted to trail her fingers through his hair. She wanted to feel him envelop her in those strong arms and bury her head in his chest.

 

“Goodbye Mr. Stark,” she said softly and moved for the door, afraid of what she’d do if she did not.

 

She felt his hand wrench her arm back and suddenly she was up against the wall, “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

 

“Y-you said I shouldn’t be here,” she said.

 

She wasn’t frightened, not really. He’d never hurt her physically in a way that didn’t also cause her pleasure. Even still he was intimidating, and so sexy she might come on the spot if he kept looking at her like that.

 

“I said you shouldn’t come here unannounced, but you’re here now,” he said. “And you were such a good girl for me, I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

 

She nodded dumbly.

 

He grinned at her and he moved one of his hands possessively down her body until he was cupping her. He let out a groan.

 

“So wet for me,” he said, “Aren’t you?”

 

“Yes,” she sighed as she felt two fingers enter here, “Yes so wet for you.”

 

“Where are your panties, Miss Baratheon,” he asked.

 

She blushed and looked up at him. _Don’t make me tell you_.

 

“Answer me,” he said, his thumb pressing against her clit. She let out a moan and he did it again, “Answer me.”

 

“They are in my car!,” she cried.

 

“You took them off before coming in here?,” he asked her, his fingers pumping in and out of her slowly.

 

She nodded, “I… _please oh gods_ , thought you’d like it…”

 

He chuckled against her temple, “Such a good girl for me, such a smart girl.”

 

He got down on his knees before her and went underneath her skirt. She moaned when she felt his tongue press against her, lapping lazily at her.

 

She stood on her tiptoes trying to grant him better access and without thinking pressed her hand to the back of his head, holding him against her. He let out a moan against her skin causing vibrations and she screamed for him. She usually wasn’t a screamer but fuck.

 

She felt his hands squeeze her butt, holding her against him as his tongue danced over her. She felt herself going higher and higher and then she was _actually_ going higher and higher because he picked her up and her legs fell over his shoulders.

 

She was pushed against the wall and his hands moved up her body under her skirt and his shirt. The feel of his large hands on her small body was intoxicating and his mouth was worshipping her.

 

“I’m..I’m going to…,” she cried. He flicked his tongue against her clit and she fell over the edge, trying to grab the wall, his head, anything for support.

 

She felt him kissing her inner thighs as she came down and then slowly he put her back on the floor. He held onto her though, keeping her steady and pressed his cheek against her stomach over her clothes.

 

Her fingers fell to his hair the way she wanted to, stroking it gently. She was still panting but a contentment fell through her whole body.

 

“You drive me crazy,” he told her.

 

She couldn’t tell if it was a reprimand or a confession so she said, “I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologise,” he said, “Just tell me you feel it too.”

 

She fell to her knees, “Of _course_ I feel it too,” _how can he doubt it?_ “I am lying to nearly everyone in my life. I’m cheating on my boyfriend. I’m endangering your career and my academic standing. Do you really still think I am so careless that I would do any of it if I had any shred of sanity?”

 

_Do you think so little of me?_

 

“No,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

 

With that he stood up, bringing her with him and carried her into his bedroom. He didn’t carry her over his shoulder, or with her legs wrapped around his waist, instead he cradled her. He put her gently onto the bed and crawled on with her.

 

“I don’t think you’re careless. I know you’re not. A bit _reckless_ maybe,” he said with a small smile and then his eyes turned serious once again, “But not careless. And I know. I know that I should be the one to stop it. I’m the adult here, bu-“

 

“We’re both adults,” she pointed out.

 

“Myrcella,” he said with a sigh, “There is no one that would look at this situation and blame you.”

 

She knew he was right, her conversation with Gendry was proof of that. If this ever came to light, it would be far worse for him than it would be for her. She would be slut-shamed, someone would pour over every paper she wrote and every test she took while in his class, searching for signs that she’d gotten preferential treatment, but then she’d go away to college and that would be that. She’d merely be a story people told years from now _One girl in my class actually slept with a teacher!_ to prove how scandalous their high school years had been. But he would be ruined. He’d never teach again.

 

The thought made her irrationally angry.

 

“That’s bullshit,” she said.

 

“What?,” he asked with a grin.

 

“You heard me, I call bullshit. You didn’t _seduce_ me,” she argued. She’d been the one who started it all.

 

“Myrcella I held you over my desk and spanked you and then ate you out on school property,” he said, “I’m hardly innocent.”

 

_But that was fun._

 

“And I’m so innocent?,” she scoffed, “I’m the one who told you I was thinking about you.”

 

“And I’m the one who kissed you,” he reminded her.

 

“But I wanted you to,” she said and leaned closer to him, “Still do.”

 

His hand cupped her cheek and he kissed her solemnly, his forehead against hers.

 

“Can we talk about it later?,” she asked and he nodded against her, already unbuttoning her shirt. _His_ shirt.

 

She pulled his shirt up his back and let it fall to the floor on top of her clothes as he pulled off his pants.

 

She had thought they’d had sex in every way imaginable, but she realised then that they’d never actually done it missionary. She wrapped her legs around him and he pushed inside of her slowly.

 

_Maybe I am crazy, maybe I truly am, because this is the only thing that feels right anymore._

 

***

 

_Home._

 

He could deny it when he wasn’t with her. When he wasn’t surrounded by her, when he wasn’t inside of her. But not now.

 

“ _Robb_ ,” she sighed.

 

“I’m here,” he promised her, his hand on her cheek, his thumb stroking it lightly, “I’m right here.”

 

“This doesn’t feel wrong,” she said, closing her eyes, “You feel so _good_.”

 

“I know, sweet girl,” he agreed, “I know.”

 

He was thrusting into her nice and slow. He’d learned that as much as she liked it wild, this was how she preferred it. That was just fine with him.

 

He felt her grab his hand and he raised it above her head, intertwining his fingers with her. He felt her clench around him.

 

 _She feels it too_ , he thought as contentment flooded through his veins like medicine.

 

“I know I should stop, _but I can’t_ ,” he confessed.

 

“Say it again,” she requested, squeezing his hand.

 

“Look at me,” he told her, she opened her eyes, “I can’t stop wanting this, you.”

 

She let out a sigh as she came and she brought him with her like always.


	9. Chapter 9

It was finally last period on Friday and he couldn't wait for it to be over. There had been a heat wave and it had turned the already restless seniors positively manic. 

 

The girls were all in sundresses and the boys were spending more time looking at them than listening to him. Which was the boys' fault, obviously, as Arya would point out if he ever complained about it. Even still, the entire class had more of a country club vibe than an academic one and his lecture had been interrupted twice with questions about where he spent his summers and had he ever been to Braavos.

 

He was about to try to bring the class back to Heathcliff's tragedy when a small freshman boy walked in. He was Rickon's age but he looked three years younger.

 

"Sorry Mr. Stark," he squeaked and Robb saw that he held a pink peony in his hand. 

 

Robb sighed. Promposals were out in full force. He'd only been out of high school for six years but when he'd gone there had been nothing like them. You just asked the girl you wanted to go with. He hadn't even really asked, he was dating a girl and it was just kind of assumed they'd go together. 

 

"Go on then," he sighed. 

 

All of the girls shifted excitedly, wondering which one of them it was going to be. All except Myrcella who was writing something in her notebook. 

 

So of course it was her that the freshman boy walked up to. 

 

If this was any other situation, Robb would have almost found it funny. The boy approached her like she was a deity, beautiful and dangerous, which wasn't entirely far off. 

 

"Um excuse me," the boy asked her. 

 

Myrcella looked up and saw the peony he was holding and blushed. She took it when he offered it and said quietly, "Thank you."

 

He nodded and left and she looked down at it curiously. 

 

"As I was saying-"

 

"Sorry Mr. Stark," another one said as he came in and handed Myrcella the peony.

 

Another one came in and Myrcella was now as pink as the flowers she held in her hand. 

 

"I'm sorry Mr. Stark," she said, standing up, "I'll go outside."

 

He was about to wave her off, it really wasn't her fault, but that's when they heard it.

 

***

 

_Oh no._

 

She had told him not to do a stupid promposal. They were going to prom together, they'd been dating for almost a year, they already had the whole night planned. 

 

 _"Dum dum dum dum dum dum dumbydooby..."_ she heard the freshman boys singing. 

 

"Seven hells," she sighed. 

 

Trystane appeared, holding a bouquet of peonies, and sang in his beautiful, lilting voice, " _Well love, love me darlin, come and go with me,"_ she glared at him and he grinned, continuing, shaking his head, _"Please don't send me, way beyond the sea. I need you darlin, so come go with me."_

 

All of the freshman boys intoned, _"Waah wah wah waaaah,"_ from the hall.

 

She tried to stop herself from laughing but she couldn’t.

 

"Trystane," she warned but there was no bite in it and he just kept on singing. Not embarrassed in the slightest.

 

It was their song, the first one they'd ever danced to. They had been juniors and they were at a stuffy party of one of their parent's friends. Nobody was dancing, it wasn’t even 9 o’clock. She had been wearing a prissy black cocktail dress, nursing a martini as she spoke with her grandfather, uncles and some of their business associates.

 

He had walked right up to her and picked the martini glass out of her hand and handed it to old Walder Frey, before taking her hand and leading her into the middle of the room. He hadn’t been embarrassed then either, and she remembered how very handsome he’d looked.

 

_"What are you doing?," she asked with a laugh as he spun her._

 

_"Dancing," he said, as though it were obvious._

 

_"Why?," she said, though she'd fallen easily into step with him._

 

_"Because I want to," he told her._

 

_"And do you always do whatever you want?," she challenged._

 

_"No," he told her and grinned, "The fact that I haven’t kissed you yet is proof of that."_

 

It was then that the freshman boys came back in and Harry Hardyng and Podrick Payne and Willem Bracken stood up and started singing too. 

 

The entire class was clapping and hooting as Trystane made his way over to her. 

 

"What do you say, baby?," he asked her, "Come and go with me...to prom?"

 

"You're an idiot," she said with a smile, but she couldn’t help but coo, ”Of course I'll go with you."

 

He grinned and kissed her to everyone's delight and she pushed him away, taking the flowers from him.

 

"Now get _out_ of here," she said.

 

"Pack it up boys," Trystane said, walking away from her still facing for her. He turned and said with a cocky grin, "Sorry Mr. Stark."

 

Her head snapped towards the front of the class. She’d gotten so swept up in her embarrassment and her memories that she’d nearly forgotten he was there. She saw the look in his eyes now though and one thing was abundantly clear.

 

Not everyone was delighted.

 

***

 

It was hard to make it through the rest of the class. Myrcella had been trying to catch his eye and he was ignoring her. 

 

He wasn’t even angry at her. He was angry at himself. Seeing her like that, blushing and laughing with her friends made him see just how wrong what he was doing was. He was being selfish, because he felt so strongly for her. He hadn’t been thinking about what was best for her.

 

Ignoring her during class was futile though because soon the bell rang and all of the students started filing out. Apart from her.

 

"I'm sorry," she said, once everyone else had left.

 

"No one was listening to my lecture anyway," he said as affably as he could.

 

"Mr. Stark," she protested.

 

She saw right through him, of course she did. He couldn’t have that.

 

"This is exactly what was supposed to happen," he went on, shaking his head, trying to think of all the reasons they shouldn’t be doing what they were doing, "You're in high school, your boyfriend is supposed to make an ass out of himself for you and you're supposed to be excited about prom. You're just a kid you-"

 

" _Just_ a kid?," she interrupted him. 

 

He closed his eyes. _Too far._ He knew he misspoke as soon as he said it and he’d wanted to snatch it back into his mouth but he couldn’t.

 

"That's not what I meant...," he tried to back peddle. 

 

"Is that what I seem like?," she asked, her jaw set and her head held high. Only her trembling lower lip betrayed her emotion. A lady until the fucking end. "When I'm alone with you?”

 

"It's more complicated than that," he said rubbing his forehead, "You know it is."

 

It was a lie, hardly the first he'd told her, but a lie all the same. It wasn't complicated, not really. 

 

The answer, the real answer, was no. When they were alone he never thought of her as a kid. Despite being playful she was mature beyond her years and when they were alone in his house together it was easy to forget how he knew her. It was so easy to pretend she was his girlfriend when she was sitting on the couch with Grey Wind while he made them dinner or when he dropped by to pick up Sansa and had found the two of them laughing as they looked over the photoshoot spreads.

 

"Actually I think it's very simple," she said vacantly, as though she weren’t really there, one tear falling down her cheek being the only proof that she was. 

 

All he wanted in the world in that moment was to cross to her. He wanted to wipe her cheek and gather her in his arms and tell her everything.

 

This was his chance though, to end it. His chance to do the right thing. The right thing _by her_. For her.

 

That thought filled him with fortitude.

 

"Maybe it is," he said with a curt nod. He forced himself to smile, swallowing the bile in his throat, “You were right, Trystane is good to you. He’s crazy for you, obviously. You… should be good to him too.”

 

She looked at him like she wanted to say something. He wouldn’t be surprised if she wanted to hurl her books at him, hurl a desk at him for that matter. It had only been days since he’d fucked - who was he kidding - since he’d made love to her in his bed, since he’d sat on the counter while she made pancakes, giving the best one to Grey Wind for being such a good boy. They’d confessed their insanity to one another, which felt a lot like confessing something else and now he was calling it all off without warning.

 

The fact that she stood there calmly belied everything he’d said. She was no kid.

 

"Bye Mr. Stark," she said quietly.

 

He grabbed his bag and walked towards her, and planted a kiss to her cheek. He had meant it to be brief, but when he felt the softness of it, when he smelled her intoxicating scent, when he thought about it being the last time he’d be this close to her, he couldn’t be quick about it. He grabbed the back of her head gently, feeling her soft hair and lingered, closing his eyes and breathing her in.

 

"Goodbye Miss Baratheon," he said finally.

 

Then he fled before he could change his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ducks and covers


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh I know I sent everyone to bed angry last night. I'm sorry! I'm not sure if this chapter will make it better.
> 
> I don't want to give anything away, but please heed the updated tags. I am writing with genuine love for this couple but not everyone is acting the way they should be acting and the last thing I would want to do is upset someone.

"Hurry _up_ ," she urged, dragging Trystane towards the restaurant.

 

"Slow down, baby," he said, "They aren't going to run out of the brussel sprouts in the time it takes me to walk from the car."

 

"There is no way you could possibly know that," she said haughtily and his eyes widened. 

 

They both burst out laughing and he grabbed her face and kissed her. 

 

"I missed you baby," he said when they parted.

 

"I was with you last night, and the night before that, and the night before _that_ ," she pointed out.

 

It had been over a week since Mr. Stark ended things between them. Since then she had reinvested herself in the end of year madness of her peers. 

 

She'd gone to Podrick Payne's party on Tuesday night even though she technically had trigonometry homework to do and had gone for a leisurely lunch with Margery and Shireen on Thursday. Shireen wasn't a Senior but she had senioritis all the same and it had been so nice sitting outside sipping Arnold Palmer's that none of them had rushed back. The teachers didn't care, they were used to it, and she could have sworn that Miss Tarth smiled at her when she came in late. 

 

She hadn't spoken to Mr. Stark since. She never raised her hand in class and he never called on her. To him it was probably like the whole thing had never happened. But it had.

 

It was one of the reasons she had stayed so busy, so that she wouldn't think about it. Thinking was a dangerous thing for her and so she kept inventing new ways of keeping busy. 

 

Most of them involved Trystane. Sweet, loyal Trystane. She’d remembered why she had gotten together with him in the first place. Because he was kind and handsome and _fun_. He made her feel lighter just being around him and she craved that lightness now.

 

"Yeah, I know...," he said, "This week's been great. I just...I don't know… recently… there's been something going on with you."

 

"I know, I'm sorry," she nodded.

 

She wouldn't lie to him anymore than she already had. She wouldn’t try to make him feel crazy for feeling that way.

 

"Aw baby you know I can't be mad at you," he said and kissed her again, "Now let's go get you some brussel sprouts because you _can_ be mad at me."

 

She laughed and took his hand allowing him to lead her into the restaurant.

 

The smell of butter and garlic and freshly baked bread immediately flooded her senses. It was her favorite restaurant in the city, one of those that were always on the ‘Best of’ lists but stopped shy of becoming sceney, or worse yet, lazy.

 

The service was impeccable, the food extraordinary, and it did what only a few restaurants could do - fool you into thinking you were actually in the country their food originated from. They didn’t achieve this by speaking exclusively in affected accents the way some more poshy restaurants did, or by insisting on a playlist from the 1920s, but with something else, something unseen, that transported you right across the Narrow Sea.

 

Trystane turned to the maitre’d and said, “Martell.”

 

“Of course, Mr. Martell,” the man said obsequiously, “I have set aside the _perfect_ table for you two.”

 

“Thank you,” she said, and Trystane smiled down at her, taking her hand back in his large one and leading them to follow.

 

They were halfway through the restaurant when Trystane nudged her, “Hey Mr. Stark!”

 

_No no no no no._

 

Trystane obviously didn’t note her hesitation, why would he? Mr. Stark was her _favorite_ teacher after all. He lead her away from the maitre’d who had a placid smile on his face as though he had absolutely nothing better to do than wait for two teenagers to sit the fuck down.

 

Mr. Stark looked insanely handsome in a simple white button down and navy blue khakis, but it was his date that Myrcella couldn’t stop looking at as they walked over.

 

She was stunning, to put it simply. With long black hair and a unique face that was all eyes and lips and cheekbones. She wore a dramatic little black dress that was sexy without being slutty, and Myrcella felt like a kid in her light blue. Just like he said.

 

“Myrcella!,” the woman cried with a smile, standing up.

 

“Talisa!,” Myrcella cried back as though her heart wasn’t tearing in two.

 

They embraced giddily. They’d met at _Little Dove_ , Talisa was the head of Sansa’s marketing team and was a complete genius with branding. She was also incredibly kind, her team worshipped her, and so had Myrcella the first time she’d met her.

 

“Mr. Martell, Miss Baratheon,” Mr. Stark said formally, too formally given the way she and his date had just greeted one another.

 

“Is this the famous Trystane?,” Talisa asked, which was kind of overstating things. She’d probably mentioned him twice. “We are going to have to keep you in mind when Sansa branches out into menswear. By gods the pair of you in an ad together…,” she said shaking her head and Myrcella knew that in her mind they were already scowling moodily at the camera or frolicking in a field.

 

“You’re one to talk,” Trystane said, practically drooling over her, “Nicely done, Mr. Stark.”

 

The woman blushed prettily but Mr. Stark only glared at Trystane. He didn’t look at her at all, which was just as well.

 

“Well it was lovely to see you both,” she lied, “But we don’t want to impose on your evening anymore than we already have. Trystane should we go to our table?”

 

“Sure baby, anything my girlfriend of _one year_ wants…,” he grinned down at her and then turned to Talisa and said conspiratorially, “She dreams about the brussel sprouts. Its enough to make a guy jealous…”

 

Talisa laughed prettily and then said, as though they were on the same side, as though it was so wonderful that they each had a handsome date for the evening, as though she wasn’t sitting across from what Myrcella actually dreamed about, “Oh they are _divine._ I told you that you have exceptional taste.”

 

“Well if you and I share taste, then mine _must_ be exceptional,” she agreed, and it was that moment that Mr. Stark’s eyes locked on hers.

 

She nearly stumbled but Trystane took it as her leaning into him and he wrapped his arm around her, kissing her hair.

 

“Have a goodnight Mr. Stark, see you Monday,” Trystane said with a carefree wave and lead her away.

 

The maitre’d smiled at them and then with a flourish showed them to their table. It was the corner table, the most sought after for it allowed both parties to sit on the booth. It was a table for engagements and wedding anniversaries. It was wasted on them for a Saturday night, even if it was their one year anniversary, but the Martell name was more than enough to secure it.

 

“A bottle of the bolinger 72?,” the maitre’d asked.

 

“Sounds great, thank you,” Trystane said as he settled his napkin in his lap.

 

When the man left she turned to him, “Champagne? Our teacher is here!”

 

“So what?,” he asked, “You think he’s going to give us another thought with that girl across from him? I’d be surprised if he even remembered that he’d just seen us…”

 

Her stomach twisted in knots, she didn’t like the idea that Mr. Stark would forget all about her. Or worse that he already had.

 

Admittedly, she was sorely in need of a drink, so she merely smiled at him and said, “I’m sure you’re right, handsome. I love the 72.”

 

“I know you do, baby,” he said and pressed a kiss to her palm.

 

She beamed at him and teased, “Just because you’re being so lovely doesn’t mean I’ll give you any of my brussel sprouts.”

 

He chuckled and nodded, telling her that he was craving the mussels anyway, and wasn’t prom going to be so fun, and all about how great their summer was going to be.

 

***

 

Robb couldn’t focus on the beautiful girl in front of him. He didn’t even know if she was beautiful, everyone seemed to think so but he couldn’t really see her. All he could think about was Myrcella’s long legs underneath her prissy dress, the way that even for this she didn’t wear make up and looked more stunning than he would have believed to be possible, the way she’d leaned against Trystane, hiding - from him.

 

She should hide, he knew that. He was a monster. He was on a date with the exact girl he should be dating. She was purported to be bright and kind, she worked in marketing for Sansa’s company and was apparently the best in branding. He didn’t care. He didn’t care at all what Talisa Maegor was the best at. All he cared about was what Myrcella Baratheon had on underneath her dress.

 

They had been seated around the corner from them, which was just as well because he would have stared at them the whole night. As it was, Talisa had to ask him three times how he was liking teaching.

 

He should never have agreed to go out with her, but Sansa had been relentless for obvious reasons.

 

He was about to turn back to her, adamant that he could and would focus on his date, but at that moment Myrcella glided past them on her way to the restroom. She didn’t look at him. Of course she didn’t, why would she?

 

She hadn’t looked at him all week and it was driving him mad.

 

The proof of that was that he waited a mere few beats and then excused himself. He had to force himself to walk at normal pace because all he wanted to do was run.

 

He went to the bathrooms, he knew from being here before that they were all single occupant. A few doors were open but the one at the back was closed, so he knocked on it.

 

“Someone’s in here,” he heard her call sweetly.

 

“It’s me,” he said.

 

“OCCUPIED,” she said angrily.

 

“Myrcella open the door,” he said more firmly.

 

“Go back to your date!,” he heard.

 

“Myrcella, open this _fucking_ door or I will break it down,” he growled.

 

She opened the door and she had fire in her eyes and he pushed inside, locking the door behind them. He didn’t say anything he just closed the distance between them and ripped down her panties with one hand, and pulled her face to his with the other kissing her. She tasted perfect, like always, but there was something else on her tongue.

 

“Have you been drinking?,” he accused.

 

“Your hand is up your student’s dress and you are reprimanding her for drinking champagne?,” she spat at him, “By the gods you really are _fucking_ impressive.”

 

“Watch your tone,” he ordered.

 

“Do you speak to your _date_ like that?,” she asked him, pushing him away from her.

 

She turned away from him, stepping out of her underwear as though she didn’t much care and went back to the sink, fluffing her hair.

 

“No, I do not,” he told her, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. “I don’t fuck her either.”

 

“Yet,” she pouted, having not noticed what he’d done.

 

_She’s jealous. She feels it too. By the gods I need her._

 

He walked up behind her, shoving down his pants and boxers and pushed her dress up, revealing her smooth delectable ass.

 

“Mr. Stark!,” she exclaimed as he pressed his cock up against her. “Our dates are just outside!”

 

“You don’t care about her, not really, and I certainly don’t care about him,” he told her, taking her by the hips and teasing against her folds, “Tell me, does he get you this wet? He doesn’t, I know he doesn’t.”

 

“Please,” she begged. It made him feel like a monster but he was beyond caring.

 

“Oh sweet girl,” he said with a chuckle, his eyes on hers in the mirror, “I’ll bet you don’t even know whether you’re begging me to stop or begging me not to…”

 

“Take a guess,” she challenged and he shoved inside of her.

 

There was nothing like being in her, surrounded by her warm wet cunt. He hadn’t been inside of her for over a week and he felt himself coming up, as if on a drug as he felt her seeping into his veins.

 

She let out a moan and he started snapping into her.

 

“He doesn’t do this to you,” he said in between thrusts, “I know he doesn’t. I’m the only one who gives you this, sweet girl, you know it and I know it,” he said, his hand reaching around her to stroke her, “You can rage at me all you want but you know I’m the one who makes you come. _I’m the only one who makes you come._ ”

 

She braced herself on the sink, her head falling forward as she met each of his thrusts. She was perfection, the best fuck he’d ever had, and the sight of her moaning for him in her demure blue dress drove him to madness - as though he hadn’t made his home there already.

 

“ _Seven hells_ ,” she cried, “Pull my hair.”

 

He yanked her hair and said in her ear, “I knew it, sweet girl, I knew you wanted it rough. You think you can hide from me under your prissy little clothes, but you can’t. This body of yours tells me everything I need to know,” he said thrusting into her viciously, “It’s all mine.”

 

With that she met his eyes in the mirror, “I _do not_ belong to you!”

 

“Look at you,” he said with a chuckle, “Of course you do. You. Are. Mine,” he growled, his hand on her neck, his thumb and forefinger on her jaw holding her so that she had to look at him, “Say it.”

 

“NO,” she growled, “I’m _not_ yours. I will _never_ be yours - you made damn sure of that.”

 

“You think one moment of honor changes anything?,” he growled back. He knew it wouldn’t change anything, it couldn’t last. Not when it felt like this. “You think I could really just _let you go? You’re_ _mine,”_ she looked at him defiantly, as though she didn’t understand, as though she didn’t feel it to. She was lying to him, to herself. He sighed, “You’re a stubborn little thing, aren’t you? You’re _my_ stubborn little thing. So I’ll tell you what, you’re not going to fuck that Martell boy.”

 

_Because I can’t stand it. Because it’s killing me to see you with him._

 

“I will fuck whoever I want,” she argued. Her eyes turned triumphant as she reached her hand underneath them to cup his balls. He saw stars and whimpered, “You think _you_ own _me_? Do you think _she_ will do this to you,” she asked, then massaged his balls saying, “Sing for me, Mr. Stark.”

 

He couldn’t help it, he let out a moan and it was her turn to chuckle. She was such a spoiled little brat and he was so in love with her that he hated her for it.

 

He stopped thrusting into her and her laughter stopped. She rolled her hips against him but he held her steady.

 

“It was a nice try,” he commended her, starting to fuck her slowly. Her eyes clouded over and he knew this was how she really liked it. She would moan for him when he fucked her hard and rough but it was when it was slow and sweet that her body would spasm with tears in her eyes, “But you see the thing is, whether you like it or not,” he said, pressing kisses to her temple, “Whether you’ll _admit_ it or not,” he said, letting his hand slip off of her neck and down her dress so he could cup a warm soft breast, “This body _is_ mine. I know exactly how to make you come for me,” he promised, “And I’ll do it sweet girl, I’ll let you come,” he assured her and she leaned her temple against him. It felt so good to have her back like this. It felt so right holding her in his arms. Her mouth had fallen open and he felt her starting to clench around him, she was seconds away from the edge. He stopped thrusting and he said, “When you promise me you won’t fuck him.”

 

Her eyes opened and there were tears in them, “Are you _kidding_ me?”

 

“No I’m not,” he said, as he began thrusting into her again, “Because the thing is,” he said, picking up a rhythm and feeling her clench around him again, “I know this perfect body of yours so well,” he said strumming her, “I know how to keep you _right_ on the brink,” he said and then stopped thrusting, stopped touching her.

 

She let out a whimper and went to touch herself but he grabbed her hand and placed it on the counter, his hand on top of her.

 

“Uh uh,” he said, shaking his head, and began thrusting into her again, “I can do this all night, sweet girl. I don’t care if we are the last ones in this restaurant. I don’t care if Talisa or Trystane or both leave. Hell they can come in and watch. _I don’t care_. Say it,” he said and stopped thrusting, “ _Promise me._ ”

 

“FINE FINE FINE I WON’T FUCK HIM TONIGHT,” she cried.

 

“Ever again,” he corrected.

 

“ _EVER AGAIN I’LL NEVER FUCK ANYONE ELSE EVER AGAIN PLEASE PLEASE I CAN’T PLEASE LET ME COME MAKE ME COME YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN PLEASE_ ,” she cried nonsensically.

 

“There’s my good girl,” he said and thrust into her in earnest, setting a quick pace, rolling his hips into her, “There she is. There’s my sweet one, so good, so fucking sweet, I’m going to show you, okay now be a good girl for me. _Come.”_

 

Her entire body shook as she came and he followed quickly after, spending into her.

 

***

 

She felt his weight slump against her as his cum dripped down her thighs. He pressed a kiss to her neck and she hated herself for liking the feel of it. For missing it. Him.

 

“I’m not going to Winterfell this weekend,” he told her, chatting amiably as he pulled his pants back up, “Maybe you could come over tomorrow?”

 

“Come over tomorrow?,” she asked and turned in a fit of rage.

 

“Well yeah -,” he started.

 

The slap across his face stopped him though.

 

“How could you _do_ that to me?,” she raged at him.

 

His blue eyes got wide and she saw her handprint on his cheek which was oddly satisfying. He had marked her before, it was well past time she mark him.

 

“Myrcella,” he said stepping forward.

 

She wrenched away from him, “Do not touch me! How… how could you? You ended this! You told me I should be with him and then you get _horny_ and decide I shouldn’t. YOU DO NOT OWN ME.”

 

“I…I know I don’t…Myrcella just calm down, sweet girl, I’m sorry I just…,” he pleaded with her.

 

“I don’t care _why_ you did it! I want to know _how_ you could do it? Do you really think SO little of me that you could… you just… I don’t matter to you at all, do I?,” she asked, her lip trembling.

 

That was the worst part about it. He didn’t need to claim her, she _was_ his, completely. He didn’t just own her body, he owned her mind, her heart, and he didn’t care. She was just a plaything. Just something to pick up and put down whenever he felt like it.

 

“No! No, Myrcella just listen to me-,” he pleaded.

 

“No!,” she cried, “Just leave me. Please. I can’t even look at you.”

 

He did what she asked at least. He didn’t even bother washing his hands, he just looked at her once more and left.

 

She tried to clean herself up as well as she could. She threw her panties in the trash because they were ruined and washed her hands. She splashed cold water on her face and did her best to smooth her hair. She tried to stop shaking, but she couldn’t seem to.

 

She took a deep breath and exited the bathroom. It took every ounce of strength in her to hold her head high as she walked through the restaurant. She wondered if the other diners could tell what she had just been doing, if they mumbled _whore_ behind their menus. She wasn’t even sure that she cared, not really.

 

“You were gone for ages, baby,” Trystane said, “You okay?”

 

_Poor, sweet, Trystane._

 

“Yeah…,” she tried to lie and then shook her head, “No… I um…I think the champagne hit me wrong… I’m so sorry but… can we go?”

 

“Sure,” he said standing up, “Of course, just sit down and I’ll go pay, alright? Drink some water.”

 

She nodded dumbly and he left to go pay the bill like the gentleman he was, even though she’d ruined his evening, even though she was a cheating whore who didn’t deserve to shine his shoes.

 

He came back and gave her a soft smile and offered his hand. She took it and he pulled her up, pulling her against him. Little did he know another man had just spilled inside of her.

 

They walked through the restaurant, and she was sure that to anybody else they looked like two kids in love.

 

But they weren’t. And they never would be. She knew that now.

 

They got into the parking lot and she tugged on Trystane’s arm.

 

“What is it, baby?,” he asked her.

 

“We um… we need to talk.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ya'll still with me?
> 
> caution: angst ahead

 

Robb paid the bill as Talisa went on and on about something. He wasn’t sure how she was still so perfectly chipper when he had been the human equivalent of a mashed potato all evening, but it hadn’t seemed to deter her as she reached for his hand as they walked through the restaurant.

 

All he could think about was Myrcella. The pain in her eyes when she’d looked at him. He had hurt her, badly, and he had never known hatred like he felt for himself.

 

“So do you maybe want to come to my place for a nightcap?,” Talisa asked.

 

_Seriously?_

 

“Oh uh…,” he started and then they walked out into the parking lot to see Myrcella standing there, her arms crossed, looking at her phone.

 

“Hi sweetie,” Talisa said cheerfully, “Where’s that gorgeous boyfriend of yours?”

 

_Don’t talk to her like you’re her counselor at summer camp._

 

Myrcella turned and he saw tears drying on her cheeks, “He um… I’m just waiting for an uber.”

 

“Oh you poor little lamb,” Talisa said, letting go of his hand and crossing to her, “Did you have a fight?”

 

“We…he…,” Myrcella started.

 

“Did he _hurt_ you?,” Robb said stepping forward.

 

Myrcella chuckled harshly, “Hurt me? _Him_?”

 

“I’m sure you’ll put it to right in the morning,” Talisa went on like a talking parakeet. Okay so she was lovely and sweet but still. “He’s obviously completely enamoured with you, I bet he doesn’t stay mad long…”

 

With that Myrcella started to cry and Robb felt sick to his stomach. He could guess what had happened. She had been overwhelmed by guilt and broken up with him. So hearing how devoted he was to her wasn’t really going to help things.

 

“Where is the uber?,” he asked. He knew her, even if she liked to pretend he didn’t. She liked action, craved order. “We’ll wait with you.”

 

“No it’s clo-cancelled, _fuck,_ ” she mumbled, her fingers moving imperceptibly fast to call another one.

 

“Come on,” he said, “I’ll take you home.”

 

“No, Mr. Stark, really,” she started.

 

“Oh sweetie we can’t leave you out here,” Talisa said, “Come on.”

 

With that, Myrcella let herself be dragged to his car. Talisa put her in the backseat and then hopped into the front.

 

He pulled out of the parking lot and turned right, heading back to Talisa’s apartment downtown. He and Myrcella both lived out of the main part of the city but Talisa still turned to him.

 

“I thought…,” she started.

 

“I should talk to her parents,” he lied.

 

Myrcella didn’t even scoff from the backseat. He was sure she wasn’t listening to them. She was staring out the window, as though she weren’t really there at all.

 

Talisa nodded and he knew he’d disappointed her but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. It was better that she was disappointed now, when there was nothing really to lose. He was never going to be what she needed. He didn’t have any of himself left to give.

 

Myrcella had taken it all without even trying.

 

He got to Talisa’s apartment quickly and he walked her up to her door.

 

“Well this was nice,” she said.

 

She really was kind, and underneath her porch light, he could see why everyone called her beautiful.

 

“It wasn’t,” he said shaking his head, “But that was my fault, not yours…”

 

“You should tell your sister you’re dating someone,” Talisa said, “Might make her stop trying to set you up with other women…”

 

“I’m not…,” he started.

 

She gave him a small knowing smile, “Only a man in love could resist me in this dress.”

 

“A fool in love you mean,” he said with a shake of his head. Why couldn’t he love _her?_ It would be so simple. She was friends with his sister, she was old enough. She was pretty and sweet. “Can you um… I mean tell Sansa whatever you want, I was an ass so I deserve the beating I’m going to get from her but…”

 

“Just take care of her,” Talisa said, nodding towards the car, “People think girls like her have it so easy. They don’t see what it can cost a girl to be that pretty that young.”

 

He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach but he gave her a sad smile, “I wish I’d met you first.”

 

“No you don’t,” she said, shaking her head, “Of all the things people regret - love is never one of them,” with that she kissed his cheek and said, “Night Robb.”

 

***

 

He opened his door and got into the driver’s seat. He looked so perfect in this car, it was big and manly like him and it smelled like him and Grey Wind a little.

 

She wished that Grey Wind was here now with his big head in her lap.

 

“Do you want to sit up front?,” he asked her.

 

“No,” she said honestly.

 

She didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to breathe him in. She was sick of being the lovelorn school girl.

 

He pulled the car back onto the road, heading towards her house. She hated how much she liked being driven by him. It felt so safe, like she could fall asleep and everything would be alright. But it wasn’t safe. _He_ wasn’t safe.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?,” he asked as they’d made their way through the city, “Trystane I mean?”

 

“He wasn’t really up for a relationship without fucking,” she spat at him, lying.

 

“Myrcella,” he sighed, “Please can we…”

 

“Someone who knew me as well as you think you do would know that was my way of saying _No Mr. Stark I do not want to talk about it,_ ” she said.

 

He was silent after that, and the streets became wider and darker as they headed towards the residential area in the hills.

 

He slowed as he neared the gates of her family’s home and he tried to catch her eye in the rearview.

 

“You don’t have to worry about _speaking with my parents_ ,” she quoted him, “They aren’t here.”

 

He drove in, waving at Sandor who waved him in and he pulled into the circular drive.

 

“Are you going to be alright on your own?,” he asked her.

 

“I’ve been left on my own since I was twelve, I’ll be fine,” she said as he finally came to a stop.

 

She hated that he sounded like he genuinely cared. Like if she asked, he’d stay the night. She wanted him to. She wanted him there so badly it was threatening to tear her in two but she couldn’t ask. Not now. She couldn’t rely on him anymore than she could rely on her parents. People always leave, she should know that by now.

 

She got out of the car as quickly as she could. All she wanted was to take a bubble bath and pull on pajamas and cry her eyes out.

 

She heard his door slam shut though.

 

“Myrcella,” he said and she stopped walking, as though he’d pulled her strings taut, “I’m sorry.”

 

“I don’t care,” she lied.

 

“Yes you do,” he said quietly.

 

She turned on her heel and looked at him and shrugged, “Fine, so you _know_ me. Don’t you see that’s because I _let_ you? Don’t you see that’s because I _trusted_ you? Don’t you see how that makes it all _worse_? You know me and you let me go anyway. You know me and you… you did that anyway. You think it is some triumph that you know me, like you’ve discovered some mysterious part that no one else has ever seen - well guess what? I’m the one who gave you the fucking map! I LEAD you there because I thought it was safe. But it wasn’t. _You_ weren’t.”

 

“Myrcella please,” he begged, “Please just let me explain.”

 

“What does it matter?,” she asked defeatedly because she was so very tired, “You tell me you can’t stop wanting me and then you end things. You tell me I should be with Trystane and then you tell me never to fuck him again. You tell me it’s complicated and then you tell me that I belong to you. Now I wouldn’t believe it even if you did tell me the truth.”

 

“Well then I may as well be honest,” he said, as though he’d been dared. He looked at her and there was goodbye in his eyes, “I’m in love with you. _Goodnight Miss Baratheon_.”


	12. Chapter 12

Robb opened the door the next Saturday night to loud banging. He groaned walking towards the door in just his boxers. They were yesterday’s but he didn’t care.

 

He opened the door and found - “Jon?”

 

“Dude,” Jon said shaking his head. “When was the last time you showered?”

 

“Yesterday,” Robb lied.

 

“Shower, now,” Jon said, “I’ll take Grey Wind for a quick walk. I expect you to be dressed when I get back.”

 

“You can’t just order me around. You’re not Sansa,” Robb pointed out.

 

“No but I am the guy who is going to be buying your drinks tonight, so unless you want to be drinking lemon drop martinis like _you_ are Sansa, you’ll do what I say,” Jon said, whistling for Grey Wind who came happily to the door.

 

Robb grumbled but went to go shower and get dressed. He hadn’t seen Jon in a few weeks and he knew he owed him _and_ Sansa a few calls.

 

In truth he was lucky it wasn’t Sansa who showed up at his door. He was sure she’d heard all about his date with Talisa and while he was sure Talisa wouldn’t say anything too harsh about him, the mere mention of Myrcella being there would ring alarm bells in her head.

 

_“Robb you’ve got to stop this,” Sansa told him as they drove to Rickon’s lacrosse game._

 

_“Sansa I don’t want to talk about this,” he sighed._

 

_“Well you can either talk to me now, or the school’s board of directors later,” Sansa said, “You’ve got to stop it.”_

 

_“I can’t,” he shook his head, “Sansa do you think I would be doing this with_ **_anyone_ ** _else? You’ve spent time with her now - what do you think of her?”_

 

_Sansa was silent, which told him everything he needed to know._

 

_“Well she’s amazing, obviously,” Sansa said with a huff, as though Myrcella’s perfection was a great inconvenience, which it was, “And if she were a few years older or even if you’d met her this summer I would be cheering you on. I get it - okay? I see it. You’re not crazy and you’re not a bad person. But it is wrong and dangerous and I need you to be smarter than this.”_

 

_He sighed, he knew she was right, of course he did._

 

_“Fine, I’ll call Talisa, okay?,” he asked._

 

_“She’s great, Robby, you’ll see. Just give her a chance,” she said, “Take a night off from thinking about Myrcella Baratheon.”_

 

He hadn’t taken a night off from thinking about Myrcella Baratheon. He hadn’t taken a minute off from thinking about Myrcella Baratheon.

 

He saw her in school and she seemed so lost. Word had gotten out about her break up with Trystane and people had started choosing sides. From what he could see, it was a lot of other people making drama where there didn’t need to be any, but Myrcella didn’t fight it, didn’t seem to try to garner favor or win. She just came to school and left, going through the motions as he was.

 

He lost time thinking about her and how he should have done it all differently. How he should have just left her alone at the restaurant and called her the next day and asked her to talk. How he could have told her he missed her and that he was sorry and that he was completely in love with her and ask her if she was okay with that.

 

He got dressed in a white t shirt and black jeans, pulling on his shoes. He found Jon in the kitchen doing his dishes.

 

“You don’t have to do that,” he sighed, “I was going to-“

 

“You weren’t,” Jon said, turning off the sink. “And it’s kind of annoying that you won’t tell me why. And that Sansa won’t tell me why. She’s livid, do you know that? And so scared for you. She wanted to come here with your parents and have some kind of intervention or something - what the fuck man? But whatever. You don’t have to talk about it. We’re going to drink about it.”

 

“What if the intervention she was planning was for drinking?,” Robb asked.

 

“Well then she should have told me that and that’s on her for _keeping your trust_ ,” Jon grinned and pulled his phone out, “I’m calling an uber, where’s a good place to drink around here?”

 

Twenty minutes later they were seated in Last Hearth, his favorite pub in the area which glasses of whiskey in front of them. Jon had stuck to his word and hadn’t asked him about what was going on or why he hadn’t called. Instead he was telling him about the vacation him and Sansa were planning for the summer and asking him whether he was going to help Arya move into school or whether he wanted him to do it.

 

He got him laughing, which was odd because he was such a broody sod and the whiskey loosened him up a bit.

 

He turned to Jon, ready to tell him everything.

 

“Stark!,” he heard someone call and he turned around and looked straight into the angriest pair of blue eyes he’d ever seen.

 

 _Fuck_.

 

***

 

Myrcella lay in bed with Ser Pounce, watching an old, sad movie, feeling very old and sad herself.

 

She couldn’t seem to stop crying and she hated herself for it.

 

 _I’m in love with you_ , she heard over and over again.

 

She knew she was pathetic. She wasn’t the kind of girl to crumble over some boy. She never had been, she was stronger than that.

 

Or she was.

 

She had been until she’d watched as Robb devoured her with his eyes or she’d felt him take hold of her. She had been until she’d watched him wrestle with Grey Windor heard him sing along, badly, to the radio while he made dinner.

 

The truth was, she was a really strong girl until she fell in love.

 

She heard her doorbell ring and wondered who it could be. Her parents were away again so she dragged herself out of bed and down the stairs.

 

When she opened the door she only saw a garment bag.

 

“Hello?,” she asked curiously.

 

“Myrcella! Hi…,” Sansa said, lowering the bag. “I’m sorry to just drop by like this, would it be alright if I came in?”

 

“Oh…of course!,” she nodded, stepping aside to let Sansa in.

 

“Here’s your dress,” Sansa said, “We have what we need for the website and everything and I know you have prom next weekend…”

 

“Thank you,” she said, stepping forward to take it from her. She hung it up in the hall closet. “I would have come to get it…”

 

“I know…but I was hoping to talk to you,” Sansa said and to her surprise asked, “Are your parents home?”

 

“N-no,” she shook her head and tried to smile, “They never really are.”

 

“Robb mentioned that,” Sansa said and Myrcella’s stomach dropped. _He what?_ “That must be hard, I’m sorry.”

 

“I’m used to it…um… Mr. Stark told you that?,” she asked, foolishly trying to recover.

 

“Like I said,” Sansa said, “I was hoping we could talk. Honestly. Is there somewhere we can sit?”

 

“Of course,” Myrcella nodded, “Can I get you anything to eat or drink? We can go sit on the terrace - it looks like it’s beautiful out.”

 

“Looks like?,” Sansa asked, “Have you not been outside today?”

 

Myrcella looked down at the ground. She hadn’t been outside since she’d gotten home from school yesterday and was still wearing the same pajamas she’d pulled on then.

 

She felt Sansa’s hand take hers, “Come on, sweetling, you need some fresh air and we’ll have ourselves a chat, alright?”

 

“Okay,” Myrcella nodded, fighting back tears.

 

Sansa didn’t let go of her hand and they walked outside and settled onto the sette. Sansa was right, she did need fresh air and felt her back uncoiling from the soft breeze. The sky was a light purple and wouldn’t be dark for hours yet and she made a mental note to bring a book outside at least tomorrow so that she didn’t become a mole person.

 

“So, are you looking forward to prom?,” Sansa asked.

 

“Oh!,” Myrcella startled, “I’m… well the truth is I’m not sure that I am going.”

 

“Why not?,” Sansa asked curiously.

 

“My boyfriend, Trystane and I broke up,” Myrcella said, “I…I broke up with him and I don’t think he’ll want to go with me…”

 

“Oh I’m sorry to hear that,” Sansa said, she sighed and said, “Really sorry to be perfectly honest.”

 

“You know,” Myrcella guessed, “Don’t you?”

 

“I know,” Sansa confirmed.

 

Myrcella looked at her for any signs of judgment but saw none. She wouldn’t be surprised if Sansa hated her, she hated herself.

 

“How long have you known for?,” she asked curiously.

 

_Has he been telling you about me? Do you hate me? Does he?_

 

Sansa gave her a sad smile and said, “Since the day we met. My brother has many good qualities but subtlety is not one of them.”

 

“No, it’s not,” she couldn’t help but agree.

 

“Did you break up with Trystane for Robb?,” Sansa asked her, “I know I have no right to ask you but -“

 

“You have every right,” she corrected her, “You’re Robb’s sister and… well I hope my friend?”

 

“Of course I’m your friend,” Sansa nodded and Myrcella sighed in relief.

 

She had loved getting to know Sansa over the past month or so and hated the thought that she might lose her too.

 

“I didn’t break up with Trystane for Robb,” Myrcella told her, “But… I did break up with him because of Robb. I wish I could say it was because of the guilt I felt about what Robb and I were doing, but it wasn’t. I did, feel guilty, he deserved better, so much better than what he got, but that wasn’t really why.”

 

“Why then?,” Sansa asked softly.

 

Myrcella closed her eyes, trying to stop the tears from falling but she couldn’t.

 

“Because being with R-robb s-showed m-me that I never r-really l-l _oved Trystane_ ,” she said as a sob racked her body. She buried her face in her hands as another one took over.

 

“Oh sweetling,” Sansa said and took her into her arms. She rocked her back and forth, stroking her hair, “Oh you poor thing, you’re in love with him. Of course you are, shh shh it’s alright. It’s going to be alright.”

 

“I’m so sorry,” Myrcella said, trying to regain her composure, “I…know you must think I’m very foolish, or careless, or dangerous.”

 

“I don’t think you’re foolish, or careless,” Sansa said, wiping the tears from her cheeks, “But sweetling, you are dangerous to him. You’re a smart girl, I know you know that.”

 

“It’s over,” Myrcella assured her, “Between us. It’s over. I… I do love him. I’m in love with him and I know what would happen to him if anyone found out about us. I couldn’t live with myself if I was responsible for him losing his career.”

 

“Robb would be responsible for him losing his career,” Sansa said, “Now I love him with my whole heart but I will not have you taking this all on yourself. He knew what he was doing, he knew it was wrong and he did it anyway. That’s on him. Everyone is responsible for their own actions here, is that clear?”

 

“Yes,” Myrcella nodded.

 

“May I ask when things ended between you two?,” Sansa asked.

 

“He…called it off a couple of weeks ago,” Myrcella said and then tried to think of how to explain last Saturday and realised she couldn’t, “And then I… called it off last Saturday.”

 

Sansa looked at her and sighed, “Stark men don’t let go of the women they love easily.”

 

“We haven’t spoken since,” Myrcella assured her.

 

“Neither have we,” Sansa said and now a tear fell out of her eye. “He won’t return my calls or messages. I sent my boyfriend over there tonight hoping he’d be able to get it out of him.”

 

“Jon?,” Myrcella asked.

 

“Yeah,” Sansa said, wiping the tear, only to have it replaced by another, “He told you about him?”

 

Myrcella nodded, “He did… about how they’d been raised like brothers and how happy he was that you and Jon had each other.”

 

“Fuck I hate him!,” Sansa growled. Myrcella startled and she said, “He was so… understanding when Jon and I got together. Jon was so scared to tell him, I’m a few years younger and they’re best friends and Robb is really overprotective and he was just so _good_ about it and so supportive. He helped get my mom on board - she loves Jon but she thought I was too young - and fuck.”

 

“Sansa…speaking as someone who has a few brothers… may I ask why that’s a problem?,” she asked.

 

She thought about Tommen, who was sweet but didn’t give her love life much thought, Joffrey who was cruel and didn’t give her happiness much thought, and Gendry, who was as overprotective and loving to her as Robb was for Sansa.

 

“Because he made it okay for me to love Jon, he helped me find the love of my life and now here I am, trying to rob him of his,” Sansa said.

 

“The love of his life?,” Myrcella asked, not being able to help but smile, “Me?”

 

“You know him,” Sansa said, “Do you really think he would risk this for anything other than forever?”

 

***

 

“Gendry,” Robb said, standing up, his hands out in front of him.

 

 _So he knows_.

 

“Oh good, you remember me,” Gendry said, getting in his face, “I think it’s time you and I had a talk.”

 

“No offence, mate,” Jon said from his side, “But you’re not really giving off talking vibes.”

 

“Stay out of this,” Robb warned Jon, “I deserve whatever he wants to do to me.”

 

“Outside, Stark, now,” Gendry said.

 

Robb set his drink down and walked outside, ready for whatever was going to happen. _What does it matter?_

 

He turned towards Gendry, expecting a right hook to the jaw but Jon had followed them out and Gendry eyed him warily. 

 

“I fucking knew you were trouble,” Gendry said pointing at him, “I fucking _told_ her. She’s a fucking angel - you know that? I don’t care what depraved shit you did with her, that girl’s soul is fucking PURE.”

 

“I know,” Robb agreed.

 

This wasn’t the dark ages, a girl’s purity had nothing to do with her virginity. Myrcella was kind and good and her soul was perfect. A few dirty fucks didn’t change that.

 

“And you fucking come along and you turn her head - do you know what it takes to turn that girl’s fucking head? She’s got 50 IQ points on both of us,” Gendry said.

 

“I know,” Robb agreed.

 

“And now she’s at home alone, crying over you! She hasn’t returned my calls in weeks - I finally go over there the other night, she’s lost ten pounds. Do you know what ten fucking pounds does to a girl that small? She’s fucking starving! You took the most beautiful girl in the world inside and out and you _ruined_ her,” Gendry seethed.

 

“I know,” Robb agreed.

 

“Will you stop fucking agreeing with me?,” Gendry asked.

 

“No,” Robb said, “Not if you’re going to keep listing the way Myrcella is incredible or I am an asshole. Trust me when I say there is nothing you can think about either one of us that I haven’t thought already. There is no amount of hate you can feel for me that I do not feel already.”

 

“You fucking love her, don’t you?,” Gendry asked incredulously.

 

“Of course I do,” Robb said, because honestly wasn’t it obvious?

 

 _Finally_ , Robb thought as Gendry punched him.

 

He steadied himself easily enough and Gendry paced away from him.

 

“You had no business falling in love with her and you know it,” Gendry said and walked back inside.

 

Robb spit some blood on the ground and Jon clapped him on the back, hailing a taxi.

 

They got in and Jon gave the driver his address. They rode in silence, though he could practically feel the nervous energy radiating off of Jon. He wanted another drink, or maybe five.

 

Jon finally said, “I think it’s time you start talking.”

 

They pulled up to the curb and Robb saw a figure sitting on his front steps.

 

“Well, Jon,” he said with a sigh, “I think there’s someone you should meet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a PSA I don't think Myrcella is perfect in this story. I've actually taken great pains to make her imperfect in this story. She's reckless and she treats Trystane horribly and her decision to be with Robb is not a smart one. That being said, neither Gendry or Robb see her clearly. They both love her madly so that conversation has to be taken from their perspective, not mine as the author! 
> 
> Just wanted to note that because while Robb has been misbehaving I definitely don't think she is blameless.
> 
> Anyway... let me know what you thought!


	13. Chapter 13

In retrospect she should have dried her hair before she came over. Sansa had left about an hour ago and she’d hopped in the shower and just gotten in her car. She wore Robb’s shirt, not because she was trying to prove anything, but just because it was her favorite thing in her closet. She paired it with jeans and moccasins and had just gotten in her car and driven over.

 

She’d left everything at home. Her cell phone her wallet, a sweater. She’d thought he would be home but he wasn’t and she could have sat in her car but she didn’t. She sat on his front stairs pathetically.

 

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there but the sky had turned dark and her arms had goosebumps by the time a taxi pulled up in front of the house.

 

 _Is he bleeding?_ she wondered as he got out of the taxi.

 

She stood up as another man followed him out. She recognised him from the pictures on Sansa’s instagram.

 

They walked up to her silently and she began to feel really stupid for coming.

 

She drew upon her strength though and held out her hand, “Hi, you must be Jon. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

 

He shook it and gave her a wary smile, “And you’re Myrcella, right? I recognise you from the ad campaign,” she nodded and tried to smile and Jon looked between her and Robb and said, “Well uh…I’ll just be inside.”

 

With that he walked in the front door and left her and Robb all alone.

 

“Did you get in a fight?,” she asked, gesturing to the blood.

 

“Not exactly,” he said with a wary smile of his own. His eyes trailed over her body and she felt self conscious. She had never felt self conscious when he looked at her before. He said quietly, “You look skinny.”

 

“Thank you,” she said stubbornly.

 

“It wasn’t a compliment,” he said sadly, lingering over her once again. She crossed her arms in front of herself, she’d secretly been hoping the shirt would hide some of it. She hadn’t had an appetite the past couple of weeks and she knew it had started to show. Robb’s eyes moved back up to hers and he asked, “What are you doing here?”

 

“Don’t tell me I’m not supposed to be here,” she demanded.

 

She wasn’t worried about Jon. If Sansa knew there was no reason Jon couldn’t too and she couldn’t stand to be treated like a dirty little secret. Not now, not when he and his sister had both told her that he loved her.

 

“I won’t,” he assured her.

 

“You hurt me. Twice,” she reminded him.

 

She knew she wasn’t blameless in this situation. She was the one who started it, the one who kept on with Trystane all the while falling in love with Robb. She knew that she had been reckless, that she had no right to imagine that this could ever work out. Even still, he’d hurt her.

 

“I know,” he agreed, as though he didn’t need reminding.

 

“I want to hate you,” she confessed.

 

It would be so much easier if she could. She could have a summer adventure and then she’d be at university. She could fall in love a few times first semester and then one serious time her sophomore year. It could be so simple.

 

“You should,” he confirmed.

 

“But I love you instead,” she whimpered.

 

Because easier wasn’t better. And she had no desire to fall in love if it wasn’t with Robb Stark.

 

Robb walked purposefully up the stairs. She thought he might kiss her, she hoped he might kiss her, she was dying for him to kiss her, but he didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

 

“We have to talk about this,” he said, “We… there are things we have to figure out. This still… I don’t know how this… we have to talk about.”

 

“I know,” she nodded, “That’s why I’m here.”

 

“Okay,” he said grabbing her cheeks in his hands, “We’re going to talk about it. We’re going to think of a plan.”

 

“Okay,” she nodded, pressing her cheek into his hand. “We’ll talk.”

 

“Talk,” he repeated, like it was the only word he remembered.

 

“T-“

 

And then he kissed her.

 

There were so many things to discuss, so many things to sort out. She had no idea how any of it was going to work. She didn’t know how they’d tell the rest of his family or hers, she didn’t know if they’d ever to be out in public. She didn’t know if they’d stay together when she went to college or anything.

 

All she knew was that Robb Stark was kissing her once again and for the first time in weeks she was ravenous.

 

***

 

Kissing Myrcella Baratheon was, to put it simply, the only thing he ever wanted to do for the rest of his life.

 

The feeling of having her back in his arms was indescribable and while he knew they had things to sort out, so many things, while he knew that it was not going to be an easy or simple path forward, he couldn’t find it in him to care as he captured her sighs against his lips.

 

“Robb…,” she said breaking away from him.

 

“Yeah sweet girl?,” he asked, kissing her cheeks and forehead and nose.

 

“Can we order pizza?,” she asked sheepishly.

 

That sprung him into action right enough. Gendry hadn’t been kidding. He’d noticed it at school but he’d spent so much time trying not to look at her that he hadn’t _really_ seen it until she was standing right in front of him.

 

His shirt had always been big on her but now it positively drowned her, and she felt scrawny in his arms, her youthful face bordering on gaunt.

 

“Yes!,” he said, because he’d stop kissing her if it meant she was eating, “Of course, what do you want? Pepperoni? Peppers and onions? Whatever you want - we’ll order it right now.”

 

She kissed him again and grinned and he pulled her into the house.

 

He was hit with the smell of meat cooking and he heard her stomach growl. He turned around and glared at her, because they were going to have a serious discussion about her taking care of herself and she rolled her eyes, pulling him towards the kitchen.

 

“Grey Wind no!,” he shouted but it was too late. Myrcella was already on the floor.

 

She was being licked and nuzzled against and she rubbed his fur and hugged him to her. She let out a laugh, and it sounded foreign, as though she’d forgotten how.

 

“I missed you, handsome,” she cooed though.

 

“They always like this?,” Jon asked from where he stood at the stove.

 

“Always,” Robb said, not being able to help but grin looking down at the pair of them, but it faded as he looked back up at Jon.

 

They hadn’t gotten a chance to talk, but Jon knew. Sansa had obviously told him that Myrcella was one of his students and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that she was who Gendry had been talking about. He waited for Jon to lecture him or grimace, but he didn’t.

 

“Say no more,” he said, with a grim smile.

 

Ghost was in love with Sansa, he never left her side if he could help it. He was the one who’d circled around her for days before she’d gotten appendicitis, the one who growled at any boy that came near her, the one who sat at her feet while she sewed.

 

Ghost and Grey Wind were part of the same litter, and more than that, they were a part of him and Jon. So Grey Wind’s devotion to Myrcella spoke louder than Robb’s own, and even if Jon couldn’t agree with it, he understood it.

 

Robb helped Myrcella up and she looked between the two of them, “I’m sorry if I was… um… bajiggity when we met,” she said to Jon, “Could we please start over?”

 

“Bajiggity?,” Jon asked with a reluctant grin.

 

“It’s a thing,” Myrcella confirmed solemnly and Robb chuckled, kissing her hair and wrapping his arms around her from behind.

 

“Yeah,” Jon nodded, “We can start over. You hungry?”

 

“Starving! We were going to order pizza but this smells so good, what is it? Can I help?,” she asked, walking over to the sink to wash Grey Wind off of her.

 

“It’s going to be meatloaf,” Jon said. It was his one speciality, and one of Robb’s favorite meals of all time. “If I thought you needed help getting to Robb’s heart I’d teach you how to make it but I think you’re doing just fine on your own, so why don’t you sit right here,” he said, tapping the counter, “And tell me all about yourself.”

 

“I’m rather boring,” Myrcella said, hopping up on the counter though, “But I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

 

***

 

It was obvious within mere seconds why both eldest Stark siblings were devoted to Jon Snow.

 

He was not as gregarious as either of them - Sansa being the most and him being the least - but there was a deep and steady goodness to him that seemed to come out of every pore.

 

He didn’t treat her like she was some high school kid, didn’t rage at her for risking his best friend’s career, he just treated her like she was his best friend’s girlfriend, which she supposed she was.

 

They had two helpings each of the meatloaf and polished off a bottle of wine. They’d done the dishes and gone into Robb’s living room, and she was currently leaning back against Robb’s chest as Grey Wind covered her entire body with his own.

 

“Jon…,” Robb said as Jon kicked off his shoes and laid out on the other sofa.

 

“Yes Robbert?,” Jon asked innocently.

 

“Do you intend on staying here?,” Robb asked and she buried her face in Grey Wind’s fur so that neither could see her blush.

 

“You’d have me drive after drinking?,” Jon asked in faux-shock.

 

“Sansa dropped you off here,” Robb pointed out, “You’d take an uber anyway.”

 

“Trying to get rid of me?,” Jon asked with a grin.

 

“Yes,” Robb confirmed without shame, “100% yes.”

 

“Aahhh karma,” Jon said with satisfaction and she snorted into Grey Wind’s fur.

 

Both of them paused to look at her and she tilted her head back to give Robb a sheepish smile. He kissed her forehead and then his head popped back up.

 

“Karma? For what?,” he grumbled.

 

“For the entire first year of my relationship with Sansa,” Jon said, as though he’d been waiting a very long time to do so.

 

“She said Robb was so supportive…,” she piped up in confusion.

 

“Hah! That is because, as you are now abundantly aware, Robb is totally helpless when it comes to the women he loves. So _yes_ he was outwardly supportive and _yes_ he is going to be my best man when I propose to Sansa this summer - not a word to her, either of you - but oh man did he cockblock!,” Jon said.

 

“That’s my sister, you asshat,” Robb said and chucked a pillow at Jon’s head.

 

“Yeah well,” Jon said, “Better me than Gendry.”

 

“Gendry?,” Myrcella asked with a chuckle and then sat up in fear, “Why? How?,” she asked and then turned to Robb, her thumb brushing over his cut, “He did that?”

 

“I had it coming,” Robb said simply, “If it had been Sansa or Arya… I would have done worse.”

 

“I’ll talk to him,” she promised.

 

She didn’t need Gendry fighting her battles for her and besides she was pretty sure her words affected Robb more than his blows.

 

“It’s alright, sweet girl,” he said and stroked her cheek. He pulled her back down against him and stroked her hair, “Well Jon if you aren’t going to leave us alone the least you can do is tell us how you’re going to propose to Sansa.”

 

“Ooooh yeah!,” she agreed, snuggling into Robb and stroking Grey Wind’s head, “Tell us everything!”

 

Jon started telling them all about his plans, and Robb held her tightly to him. She was full and warm and she was in the only place she wanted to be and she fell asleep to the sound of their good-natured banter and dreamed of a world in which a lifetime of evenings like this were possible.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahh I'm sorry it has been so long since I've updated. My mind has been on other stories. This may be a little rough but I hope you enjoy.

“Ow motherfucker!,” she exclaimed.

 

“I’m sorry!,” Robb exclaimed back, pulling out of her.

 

“Okay, let’s try again but this time I’ll push back,” Ella urged.

 

They were naked in his bed and had been for the past thirty minutes. He had more lube on his cock than he’d ever had and it was starting to get all over everything.

 

“Ella,” he said, kissing her shoulder, “Sweet girl, why don’t I just fuck that pretty cunt of yours?”

 

“Because that isn’t _special_ ,” she argued, rolling around in his arms. “And it’s your _birthday,_ ” she cooed, wrapping her arm around his neck and kissing his lips, “And I’m your _present_.”

 

He kissed her back, his hand tracing her cheek and going into her hair.

 

“Ow!,” she cried again, “Oh it hurts, it hurts.”

 

“My cock is nowhere near your ass!,” he argued in horror.

 

“No, no, _ow, ow_ ,” she said again, squeezing her eyes shut, “It’s the lube, it’s in my eye, it really stings Robb.”

 

“Oh sweet girl,” he cooed, trying not to laugh. It wasn’t funny that she was in pain, not at all, but the situation from an _objective_ point of view was a bit. He got up on his knees and picked her up and got out of bed. “Fuck you are so _slippery_ ,” he grunted.

 

She weighed nothing at all but it felt like a herculean task getting her into the bathroom because the pair of them were so covered.

 

He set her down on the counter and grabbed a wash cloth and ran it under cool water.

 

“Robb! I’m sliding off!,” she shouted, catching herself and then let out that rare, deep belly chuckle of hers.

 

He nearly slipped on his way back to her, because somehow it had now gotten on the floor or his feet or _something_ and he dabbed her eye with the wet towel.

 

They were holding onto each other now to stay upright but he was doubled over laughing and she had tears running down her cheeks.

 

“You could have just gotten me a sweater,” he pointed out which only made her laugh harder.

 

He finally got the lube out of her eye and it was only a little bit red but they were both so covered that he brought her into the shower.

 

“Hey,” he prompted, as the warm water rushed over them.

 

“Hi,” she cooed back, wrapping her arms around his neck.

 

“Every time we are together is special,” he told her honestly. “I love you sweet girl, and I love that you’re open to trying new things, but we don’t really need to spice things up. I’m still your teacher after all.”

 

“Kind of a sassy detail,” she agreed with a smile. Her face knitted in consternation though and she said, “But that’s the thing Robb… you’re my _teacher_ , there are so many parts of us that… that are _hard_ , that we can’t do… we can’t date openly, we can’t hold hands in public… all we have is _this_. I just want _this_ to be good enough that it makes the other stuff we can’t have worth it.”

 

“Sweetheart,” he chuckled defeatedly, bending his knees so that he could be at eye level with her, brushing the wet hair out of her face, “You are worth _everything_. This is worth _everything_. I don’t just mean the sex, I will have you any way that I can get you. Even if it means night after night in this house, I want _you_ , only you,” she smiled at him shyly but she didn’t look entirely convinced so he added, “And as for the sex… _you’re the best I’ve ever had_.”

 

A smile slowly overtook her face, her lips wet from the shower, her eyes bright.

 

“The best ever?,” she asked, “Really?”

 

“Really,” he nodded, pressing a kiss to her lips. She wiggled excitedly against him and he chuckled. His voice turned low though and he asked, as he had so many times before, “Oh sweet girl, you really do just want to please me, don’t you?”

 

She looked up at him with fire in her eyes and nodded.

 

Things were different between them now. They no longer pretended this was just sex, he no longer pretended that he wasn’t an absolute fool for her. She was more open about what she wanted, begging for his mouth on her or to be taken differently. Even still she was submissive to him, eager to please.

 

He bent his knees more and lifted one of her thighs and wrapped it around his waist, pressing his hard cock against her folds.

 

“Fuck me, Mr. Stark,” she whimpered.

 

He grinned at her wolfishly. They both knew it was wrong, but it turned them on to remember what they were to each other.

 

“Are you sure you deserve it, Miss Baratheon?,” he asked, teasing her with his tip. “Have you been a good girl?”

 

“Mmhm,” she nodded, biting her lip obscenely, “Please fuck me, fuck your good girl, I’ve been so good.”

 

“Tell me how you’ve been good for me,” he prompted, pushing an inch inside of her.

 

“I had a dream about you last night,” she told him, “You were taking me hard and fast, rubbing my clit the way I like it and I woke up dripping for you.”

 

He groaned and pushed another inch inside of her.

 

“And what did you do?,” he asked her.

 

“Nothing,” she said innocently.

 

He looked at her a bit disappointed. He’d been hoping to hear how she’d touched herself thinking about him.

 

“And why is that?,” he all but growled at her, pulling out.

 

“Because my cunt belongs to you, Sir,” she explained.

 

He groaned and shoved into her all in one snap. They both let out a cry and he gripped her thigh harshly.

 

She was so much smarter than him, always found ways of surprising him. He would’ve loved the picture of her touching herself, thinking about him fucking her, but she knew him well enough to know that what he really craved was to consume her entirely.

 

“That’s right,” he growled, thrusting in and out of her, “This cunt is all mine.”

 

It was the language that had gotten him into trouble only a week and a half prior but it wasn’t getting him into trouble now, now that she knew he belonged to her just as much. Now she moaned when he said it, so he went on.

 

“That’s it, sweet girl, feel my cock, feel my cock in your tight little cunt,” he growled, “It’s all for me, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes, _yes Sir_ ,” she cried, wrapping her arms around his neck and hoisting herself up so that both her legs wrapped around his waist.

 

He slammed her against the shower wall, the water was getting in their faces but he didn’t care and neither did she as he ravaged her against it.

 

“Oh, fuck, Robb, Robb Robb _yes yes yes!_ ,” she cried as he all but jack hammered into her.

 

“That’s it,” he grunted out, “You know whose making you come. Take it, take it, baby, fuck I could _live_ in this cunt.”

 

She leaned her cheek on his shoulder, surrendering any bit of control that she had and he was filled with an animalistic need for her.

 

“Come for me, baby, come for me, _now_ ,” he demanded and then rolled his hips, hitting her right in the spot that he knew made her see stars.

 

“ _Robb,”_ she cried and he felt her tighten around him.

 

“ _Ella_ ,” he cried out and shuddered into her.

 

***

 

“I like it,” she told him as they ate his birthday cake.

 

“Well you should, you made it and it’s _fucking_ delicious,” he said, cutting himself another piece.

 

She giggled, he was such an animal.

 

“Not the cake,” she said, “You calling me Ella… only Gendry does really, but I like it.”

 

“When did I call you Ella?,” he asked her curiously, taking another bite.

 

Some frosting stuck on his lips and she swiped it with her thumb, bringing it to her tongue. It really was good, if she did say so herself.

 

“When you um…,” she said, unusually awkward. They could say all manner of things to one another in the heat of the moment, but anytime they were just hanging out she always felt a little strange about it, “ _Arrived_.”

 

“Arr- oh when I _came_ ,” he chuckled at her, “You’re a loon.”

 

“You love me anyway,” she said stubbornly, finishing her piece of cake and bringing it to the sink and washing her hands. She went into the front hall and grabbed the bag she’d left there and placed it in front of him on the table, “Happy birthday, baby.”

 

“I thought _you_ were my gift?,” he asked leaning back and looking up at her.

 

“Well this is your _other_ gift,” she said, holding his cheeks in her hands and pressed a kiss to his nose, “Not as easy to exchange.”

 

He reached up and pulled her face down so that he was kissing her lips, as though he was trying to tell her that he would never exchange her. It was upside down and not terribly easy but she felt the usual burning inside of her when their lips met. She smacked another kiss to his lips and stepped away.

 

“Open, open, open!,” she said excitedly.

 

He grinned at her as he unwrapped the gift and didn’t look down until he’d opened the white box.

 

“Ella…,” he said reverently.

 

He placed the box down and went over to the sink and washed his hands, drying them carefully and then came back to the table.

 

“Is this?,” he asked, lifting the book.

 

“It’s a first edition,” she nodded and then couldn’t help but reveal the best part. She opened the front cover and said, “It’s inscribed here.”

 

His fingers traced the ink markings and started to read out loud.

 

_To my darling girl,_

 

_There are many things I want to give you, but all I have left are my words - for my soul and my heart have been yours for so long already - so please accept this gift, humble, though it is, which is given with all the love I have._

 

_Ever yours,_

_Alastair_

 

“Is this… was… did he give this to…,” he sputtered.

 

“It was in Beth’s collection when she passed away,” she nodded, naming the supposed muse of the story. The great muse of his life. “And it’s only had two other owners since. Now three.”

 

She’d been wracking her brain for what to get him for weeks, since before they’d ended things. She’d been with Sansa who’d mentioned that she’d convinced another friend of hers to read _The Child_ and she’d remembered the conversation they’d had that day in the coffee shop, the first day they’d ever made love.

 

“Ella this is too much,” he shook his head, “This is far too much.”

 

“It’s less than you deserve,” she said, crawling into his lap. His arms came around her immediately, his hand cupping her cheek. “ _So please accept this gift, humble, though it is, which is given with all the love I have._ ”


End file.
